Immunity
by Wolf190
Summary: It's started, the infection is spreading, and Dave is immune. Being rewritten (finally). Nothing huge expected to change.
1. Chapter 1

Immunity

"Now we are back with the latest update on the siege-", the channel changed to another reporter.

"-The National Guard has already been mobilized", again, the channel changed. This time, a cartoon replaced the reporters.

Sighing heavily, Dave Barret put the remote down on his table. All that was on TV lately seemed like bad news and horror fiction. Luckily for him though, everything being reported on seemed out west, far from his own Sharon, Pennsylvania. He didn't even have family out in California, where most of the news coverage was focused. Apparently, some sort of new virus or germ was discovered. The scientists were still trying to determine what it exactly did to the body but recent news was showing that it wasn't good at all.

A few weeks ago, what seemed like an empty fishing trawler washed up on a California beach. Before it could be identified and searched, the former occupants had stormed out of its bowels and attacked everyone close by. From there, it just got worse and worse as reports of similar behavior started springing up all over the country. These people seemed invincible; surviving what should have been lethal wounds from handguns and rifles. Scientists were starting to come to a consensus that these people were no longer alive, and that after they were attacked by these people, died, and then came back to life. So far, most have rejected this theory, calling them crackpots and other such names. However, after a recent event in which a video showing half a body crawling around, still searching for someone to attack was released, everyone is starting to see what the scientists had already found out. And even though Dave was concerned, no cases, so far, had surfaced in his or any neighboring state.

Nerveless, he dug through his closet for his .357 magnum and booked a spot on the range for the next day. If this got to his state, he thought, then he was going to be ready. He hadn't been shooting anything for about a year, and knew he would probably be a little rusty. Since he didn't really have any kind of family, he had made sure to call his closest friends and make sure they knew about what was happening. Since then, he had bought extra rounds of ammunition, and a lot of water bottles and canned food.

But even though he was intent on making sure that he wasn't caught up in a similar situation as all of those poor people out west, he was getting tired of the death and destruction being shown. He could go for a break from the news, but he wanted a nap more than anything. So as the TV aired his cartoons, Dave slowly started to nod off. But, just as he was getting to sleep, his phone rang, jerking him awake. He grabbed the cordless phone from its charger.

"Hello?"

"Dave?" He recognized it as his friend Michael.

"Yea, this is him. What are you calling for?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you were keeping up to date with the recent news and all." Dave let out a heavy breath.

"It seems like that is all that is on TV now."

"You've wanted to watch your cartoons?" He had to hand it to Michael for making his day that much brighter.

"Yea, I've had to flip through about sixty news bulletins before I could find them though."

"Well I just wanted to find out if you were up for a RISK game with Paul and I. We were going to hold it tonight." Dave thought for a moment about his work schedule and if he could make it or not. He knew that Michael was usually cheery, and wondered if this was a way for him to get his mind off of everything.

"Sure, when should I come over?" Dave glanced at the VCR clock and noted that it was four in the afternoon.

"Whenever you feel like it actually, Paul is already here with me."

"Yea sure, just have some snacks ready when I get there."

"Alright alright, but be prepared to lose your precious Ukraine to me." Dave thought back to the last RISK game they had held and let out a laugh.

"You only get Ukraine when I capture the entire Asian continent." Dave could practically feel Michael roll his eyes at him over the phone, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Just get yourself over here already." Dave reached down beside his couch and grabbed one of his shoes to put it on one handed.

"Alright, see you when I get there."

"Bye."

He put on his shoes, making sure they were still tied, and grabbed his keys off the table. Grabbing a dark coat off one of the hangers near his door, he made his way out of the living room and to the door of his apartment. Closing and locking it behind him, he walked down the stairs, out through another set of doors, and into the parking lot. He spotted his old Ford Escort and unlocked the door to get in. He shoved the key into the ignition and started up the car. He only lived about fifteen minutes away from Michael's house and it was a Friday. He was up for a long game with his friends and just relaxing.

He took a deep sigh, and turned out of the lot and merged into traffic only to sit at a red light.

"I'll be damned if this light isn't always red when I turn out." He sat in that spot for another long minute before it changed green. Sighing, he made a left and continued on his way only to hit _another_ red light.

"Do they have these damned things timed or something?" He could feel his former good mood disappearing rather quickly, and decided to turn on the radio in hopes to heighten his spirits. He turned the knob and soft country filled the car's interior. Dave felt himself relax a bit in his seat and he took a deep breath. The light ahead turned green and he began again with a foot softly on the pedal.

Ten blocks later, Dave parked in front of Michael's suburban house. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and put his escort in park. Stepping out, he was greeted by Michael at the door.

"Hey, welcome to my lovely home!" Dave grinned as Michael let him enter first. He noted that the walls were a different color than last time; a darker shade of blue.

"Michael, what did you let your wife do?" Michael chuckled a bit before answering.

"Karen has been watching too many of those home improvement shows lately." They walked into the living room where Paul was reclining on one of the chairs.

"Just admit that it is better than anything you could have come up with." His wife walked up behind him and slapped him playfully from behind. Michael sat down on one of the couches, holding the spot she had struck.

"You didn't have to hit me so hard." She smiled.

"Oh suck it up already." She turned to Dave, never loosing her smile. "Well how are you today?"

"I'm fine," he sat down in a recliner next to Paul. "So how are you today, Paul?"

"I'm doing fine, Dave."

"Well I see you haven't lost any weight since I last saw you." Paul laughed at his own obesity.

"This is just a casing for my rock-hard abs." Dave rolled his eyes as Michael and Karen laughed.

"Well you keep working out big guy." Michael clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention.

"Well I do have some important news for you all, before we get started with our games." His wife sat down next to him and he put an arm around her. Dave and Paul waited in silence for the news. "I was going to save it for when I told everyone else, but I can't really keep it anymore."

"I'm pregnant!" Karen finished.

"Are you serious?" Dave wondered how long it would be until it happened. Michael's smile was so broad that he thought his face would crack.

"Yep, we finally did it." His wife smacked him in the back of the head again and left for the kitchen. Dave smiled at Michael's goofy behavior.

"I'll get you boys some beer." She said as she was leaving.

"Alright Michael, way to go," Paul rubbed his hands together, "and she gets us beer."

"I heard that Paul!"

"It was Dave!" He pointed to Dave as if she could see him through the walls.

"No it wasn't and you know it!" She came back in the room with four beer bottles and sat down next to Michael again.

"Isn't drinking bad for the baby?" Asked Dave, taking the one she offered to him.

"One won't hurt, plus I need to relax." She opened the bottle and took a swig before placing it on the glass table in front of her. Michael reached down under the table and produced a RISK board.

"Are we ready to play yet?" Dave noticed his anxiousness.

"Don't worry Michael; we have all night to kick your ass." Michael laughed and took a drink from his bottle.

"Yea right Dave, remember last time?" He retorted, referring to the last couple of games they had played together.

"I'm not stupid enough to let you take advantage of my kindness again Michael." He narrowed his eyes as if to produce an extra bit of drama to the situation. "You are not going to survive." Michael, in turn, got up from his seat and narrowed his eyes as well. He spoke in a low voice.

"Do you wanna take this to the board Dave?" There was a dramatic pause, and then Paul interjected.

"Will you sit down already and just set up the damned board?" The moment killed, Michael fell back down in his seat and started to lay the map down on the table.

"So, what is everyone's preferred color?" And with that, the game began.


	2. From Games to Reality

From Games to Reality

Everyone was silent and no one moved. Glares were given and received and cautious looks were passed around the space. Not a single sound was made through the house. Then, a hand reached down and moved a piece on the board.

"Ural to Ukraine." Dave raised his hands in triumph.

"Yes! Thank you Michael!" This was followed by a loud grunt of frustration from Paul.

"Why would you attack me in Ukraine when Dave is building his forces down in Australia?" For three hours, they have been playing this game non-stop. So far, as usual, no one has had the complete upper hand on anyone yet. Around the three friends, empty bags of chips and bottles of soda and beer lay strewn around the living room.

"Because you turned against me in North America last time, now it is my turn." Paul shook his head furiously and grabbed the defending dice.

"I hate you Michael." Both rolled their dice on the board.

"We both lose an army." They were about to roll again when Karen walked into the room, looked concerned. She was speaking into a phone and they stopped talking to hear her.

"Yes, I'll be sure to tell him." She paused to listen to the other end. "Thank you so much for letting me know." She hung the phone up and turned to Michael.

"What's wrong Karen?" He asked, putting his dice back on the table and turning in her direction.

"Your brother is flying here with your mom. Their city was attacked and they couldn't stay there anymore." She moved to sit down next to Michael.

"Are they ok?" Dave wondered what state the two had lived when they were attacked.

"Yes, they are fine, but they are going to need a place to stay." Paul, taking advantage of the distraction, moved a few pieces away from Michael's army and placed them off the board.

"Paul," Dave interrupted, "is that nice?" Michael and Karen were confused until they noticed what he had done.

"Put them back Paul; we will continue the game in a bit." Michael continued to ask her about what happened.

"Where did they live Michael?" Dave asked, taking a swig of soda from one of the cans. Michael turned to him and started fiddling with a RISK piece.

"They lived down in Florida." Dave felt a cold chill run down his back. If they were that far into the country already, how long was it going to take until they were here? For a moment, he considered ending the game and going back to his house to take stock of his supplies. Then he wondered if his friends had a plan.

"We all know about what is happening around the country right?" He asked them, gaining their attention by speaking louder than Michael.

"Yea, that thing that is down in California right?" Paul looked a little uncertain.

"Dave, I'm sure that it won't reach here." Michael responded, almost as if he was reading Dave's mind. He had his own doubts though, what if it did get all the way to Pennsylvania?

"That's just it Michael," Dave continued, "what if all that does really come here? What would we all do?" The room stayed silent after Dave's observation. The mood was quickly swinging south and they all felt it.

"Let's watch the news for a bit," Michael's voice was a little shaky, "maybe we can continue this game later." He reached for the remote and turned on the TV with the tap of a button. He changed the channel until he landed on national news. A reporter, dressed in the usual suit, was a bit pale, but speaking normally.

"If you are just joining us now, then we will repeat the message." The view changed to an amateur video shot of countryside. The frame stayed still because the video wasn't playing. The voice of another reporter could be heard explaining.

"What you are about to see may be unsuitable for minors. If you have children in the room, you may want to move them somewhere else." A few short seconds later, the video started. Screams could be heard as the camera focused on a passenger airliner, dipping low on the horizon, and then leveling back off again.

"Oh my god, what is happening?" Someone in the video asked. The plane dipped again, then turned in their direction. It rapidly increased in size until everyone knew what was going to happen. The people behind the cameraman didn't comprehend it for a moment. Then, they screamed and began to run.

"Get back!"

"Run!"

"Clear out! Clear out!"

The camera turned around and focused on the ground as the person holding it sprinted from the incoming plane. As it got closer, you could hear the engines getting louder, the shrill sound it made increasing as it dived towards them.

"Here it comes!" The one holding the camera turned around just in time to see the plane rush overhead and over a patch of trees. A second later, an explosion drowned out any noise. Then, thick, black smoke poured over the trees and spiraled into the sky. Everything was silent, and then the video cut off. The original reporter came back on screen to continue speaking.

"What you just saw was a video of flight 72, a Boeing 747 carrying people from the recent attacks in Arizona and Utah." The reporter took a deep breath before continuing. "Police and units from the FBI are investigating the crash, and are trying to confirm whether it was a part of the recent events that started in California only a few weeks ago. As you viewers know, what seemed like an empty fishing vessel washed up on a California beach and while police…" The reporter focused on something beyond the camera, then gave a look of confusion. He then continued speaking about the crash itself. "Local police in the area-" Dave's face turned to one of disgust at the sloppy cover-up. What kind of news station doesn't tell its viewers the real news? Michael turned the TV to another station, this one about local events. Another reporter filled the screen, looking a little better off than the one before her.

"Well kids in Sharpsville will have another playground once construction is finished." Michael flipped the TV off. Dave let out a breath; the room was quiet after the video of the plane crash. He felt his heart beating heavily in his chest, and a little adrenaline flowing in his veins.

Karen finally spoke up. "What happened to all those people?" The answer was obvious, and so was the reason why it crashed. Dave looked at Michael and their eyes connected. Michael shook his head, not wanting to believe it.

"You don't think that the new virus was on that plane do you?" He was becoming paler, and shaking slightly. Dave nodded and turned to look at Paul.

"Do you want to finish this later?" Dave wanted to get back home and make sure he was ready for anything. Paul nodded and they all started picking up the mess they had created.

"I'll get a trash bag." Karen walked out of the room to fetch one.

Picking up an empty bag of chips, Dave wondered aloud what was going to happen.

"Do you guys think that this will get here before they can contain it?" It seemed that Michael was finally taking this seriously. Paul looked about to ask the same question. Dave nodded his head and watched to make sure Karen wasn't in the room yet. Then he spoke in a low voice.

"Michael, when you get your brother and mom, do you want to see if we can find a place to go to?" Michael looked unsure and paused to think.

"Where do you think we could go?" Dave shrugged his shoulders, and then Paul spoke up.

"I have a friend with a cabin near Smith Falls."

"Isn't that in Canada?" Michael picked up a few cans off the table and set them aside. "Why would we go all that way?" Paul shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know; Davey here is the one asking if we can go somewhere." They both looked over to Dave.

"Do you think we could get there if the shit hit the fan here?" Michael and Paul thought about it for a moment, and then Michael nodded.

"I think we could do that," he glanced over in the direction Karen left, "but she _is _pregnant. I don't think you want to have her angry on the way there." He looked back at the both of them. "You really don't want to see her mad." They all chuckled for a moment before Karen reentered the room carrying a trash bag. She stopped to give them a look of suspicion.

"What are you three up to?" Dave didn't think that they could get around it if they were serious about leaving. Michael confirmed this when he spoke, sort of.

"Karen, do you want to go for a trip after we pick up my mother and brother?" Karen scrunched up her brow in confusion.

"Why would we leave?" The three men exchanged looks before Michael broke off to talk to her privately. He took the trash bag she was carrying and gave it to Dave.

"Keep picking up guys, I'll be back in a moment." With that, the couple left the room. Dave and Paul continued cleaning until the room was close to spotless. When they were just about finished, Michael walked back into the room, alone.

"How did it go?" Paul asked him, tying a swollen trash bag shut. Dave continued picking up and putting the RISK pieces away until he could set the box down under the table again. Michael shrugged his shoulders, uncertain.

"She took it like I thought she would, kind of anyway." He glanced back over his shoulder before continuing. "She got a little upset, started asking a lot of questions, the usual stuff." He emphasized himself with a shrug of a shoulder. "She eventually agreed because I asked about the baby."

"Don't tell me you used that against her." Paul said to him, hoping that he hadn't. Michael shook his head.

"No, I just told her that it might be dangerous if we stay here and that virus managed to reach us." He helped Paul with the bag and took it out to the kitchen. Paul and Dave followed him.

"What are we going to do about your house?" Dave wondered about his. Then again, he only lived in an apartment

"Well we could just lock it and take everything we need." Paul piped in, opening the door so Michael could throw the bag out the door and into a trash can. Michael nodded, agreeing with Paul.

"Yea, we could." He washed his hands at the sink. "I would have to take all my money out of the bank first, and then pick up James and mom." He finished, referring to his brother.

"Paul and I could do the same." Dave tried to think about how much money he had in his account. Last months rent really dented his savings. Working as a cashier really didn't pay much. Paul nodded his head enthusiastically, agreeing with Dave.

"Yea, I have this huge amount just sitting in my bank." He looked to both of them. "I haven't told you about it because I was really hoping to get you guys something for your birthday." Michael and Dave coincidentally shared the same birth date. Every year, they would gather at Michael's to celebrate.

"How much do you have?" Dave asked him, hoping that they could count on him for money. Paul thought for a full minute before coming to a number he thought right.

"I think I have a couple thousand in there." Both of their jaws hung open.

"What were you planning on getting us for our birthday?" They both asked at the same time. Paul smiled and laughed nervously.

"Well I don't know something nice?" Dave was both relieved and shocked at the amount he had. It was a lot more than he had himself. He only had a couple _hundred_ of he was lucky. Dave knew he should have asked Paul for some rent money sooner.

"Well I'm glad you saved it up." They both still couldn't believe how much they lucked out. They now had enough money to ensure their trip, should they ever have to take it. Dave had one more question though.

"So how are we going to decide when the right time to go is?" All three of them stood in silence for a moment. Finally, they all came to a conclusion.

"When we hear or see anything strange or out of place in any neighboring state, or ours, then we leave immediately." With that being said, the three continued thinking about the jetliner they had seen on TV, and wondered if the new virus was really that powerful.


	3. Well Its hit the fan

Well… It's Hit the Fan

Dave had collected his money, practiced at the range for a bit, and gathered as much food and water as he could. Now, all he could do was wait and keep in touch with his friends. It had been two days since they had created a fall back plan for themselves. It didn't look like he was the only one either. Yesterday, he had been on his way to buy extra water when he noticed that there were no extra spaces in his store's car lot. Since that had never happened before, at least since he has started working there, he knew something was up. When he walked in, the sights around him confirmed it. People were filling there carts with anything they deemed valuable. Thinking back now, he was glad that he didn't have to work that day, the cashiers looked absolutely overwhelmed at the extra inflow of customers.

"Do you think you can help us today?" A cashier, Bethany, had asked him. He had shaken his head at her, then grabbed a cart himself. He had almost fought with numerous people for what seemed like the last few cans of soup. One man threatened violence if he didn't get what he wanted. Dave just shook his head and walked away, knowing that he would never get anything done like this. He took advantage of the chaos in the store, and slipped into the back, where storage was located. Since he worked there, no one questioned his presence. In fact, a few employees had the same idea as him. He and two others started filling bags with food that wasn't on the shelves yet. It was illegal yes, but worth it if things went downhill fast. He thanked the two workers for their silence on the subject, then wondered if he could get extra ammunition for his .357. He would save that for tomorrow, he told himself. Now, he was regretting the decision. Just a few hours ago, reports of the virus were confirmed in most, if not all, the western states, and it was now in Florida. Dave picked up his phone and called Michael's number. He waited a few seconds, and then he heard someone pick up.

"Are you watching the TV?" He knew it was a dumb question, knowing that they would all be glued to their screens for the next few days.

"Yes, and I don't like it one bit." Michael responded. Dave heard chatter in the back round, and guessed that Michael had picked up his brother and mother.

"Do you think we should start packing?" Dave really didn't want to hear the answer, but he knew that it might save his life if all the stories were true. He continued watching the news, seeing a new story pop up. The reporter was dirty looking, like he hadn't had a shower in a few days. His face was covered in unshaved whiskers and he was standing next to an American soldier.

"As you can see here, the army has been mobilized into service, and is trying to contain what we have now confirmed to be a deadly new virus." The camera swiveled to show a blockade manned by soldiers and various attack vehicles. The soldiers were checking cars and letting them pass through one by one. The view turned back to the reporter who continued speaking. "No word on the extent of damages caused by this new outbreak, but we are confirming its presence in the following counties…" He looked down to a sheet of papers before continuing. Dave started speaking to Michael again.

"Are you hearing this Michael? They are declaring counties now. What state is this in?" As the reporter read off counties, one rang in Dave's mind.

"These counties are now considered under quarantine by the U.S. army and the CDC. Cuyahoga…" The reporter continued reading off names.

"Shit Michael, Cuyahoga is only in Ohio." Being that the county is right on the border of Pennsylvania, this definitely counted as a good reason to leave.

"Are we going to go?" Michael asked him over the phone. Dave took a second to ponder what they had to do to get ready. He still hadn't gotten that extra ammunition.

"Yes, call Paul and tell him we are leaving." He took another second. "Tell him to get all his money and meet us at your place."

"Alright, I will see you when you get here." With that, Dave hung the phone up on the charger next to him. He had a lot of things to do in order to get ready. He had to finish packing what he hadn't so far, and he had to make sure his weapon was ready to be used. He got up, and then the phone rang again. Surprised, Dave answered it, wondering who would be calling.

"Hello?"

"Dave!?" It was Paul, Dave concluded. But something was amiss. His voice was frantic, and what sounded like pounding was coming through the other end.

"Paul, are you ok? Is something wrong?"

"Yes there is something wrong! I think the virus is here in Pennsylvania already!" Dave felt adrenaline course through him and his heart started pounding again.

"How do you know, are you alright?" The pounding got louder.

"No I'm not alright. And I know because I think they are right outside my fucking door!" Dave heard someone scream in the back round.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know Dave, but you need to get over here now! I don't have anything to defend myself with!" Dave tried to stay calm, but he was never in this kind of situation before.

"Alright, make sure everything is locked, and get somewhere they can't." Dave hoped this was good advice. "Michael and I will be right over."

"Just please hurry up!" Paul's voice was desperate.

"Just hang on buddy; we're coming to get you." He threw the phone on the charger and rushed into his bedroom to retrieve his handgun. He came back out after shoving every round he had into his pockets, and then realized he hadn't told Michael. Picking up the phone, Dave called Michael back. There were a few rings and then Michael picked up again.

"Hello?"

"Well I think the shit just hit the fan."

"What?"

"Michael," Dave tried to contain his fear, "I think the virus is here, now."

"What?" He could hear Michael's shock. "How do you know?"

"Because they have Paul cornered in his own house."

"Fuck, get over there already; you are the one with the gun. I'll be there in a bit." Dave heard Michael end the call and he hung the phone up again. He rushed out his door, grabbing a coat on the way, and took the steps two a time. He ran out into his lot and hurriedly unlocked his escort. It took him two tries in order for him to get the door open, then once more for him to get the engine going. He sped out of the parking lot and wished he had called the police before leaving; he could really use their help. He knew where Paul lived. It was a suburban home just like Michael's, but he hoped it would hold out to whatever was attacking him.

Making a quick left, he knew that taking this street would set him in the direction of Paul's house. In the distance, he spotted a pillar of smoke rising. He also heard emergency sirens. It was worse than he wanted to imagine if the sirens were any indication that it wasn't contained.

"Why didn't the reporters tell us it was this close already!?" He yelled to himself. The anger in his voice stunned him and he didn't believe what he had heard. Something sounded different. Taking no more time to think about, he made a right on another suburban street to hit a person running head on.

"Fuck!" The person bounced on the hood and over the side of his car. Dave slammed the breaks to stop and almost hit the wheel when he did. Opening the door, he put a hand to his magnum and slowly approached the fallen man. He was dead; obvious by the way he stared up at the sky while his body face the other way. Blood was starting to pour on the ground near his body, and Dave noticed tears in the man's clothing, then bite marks. Dave wondered for a moment if he should call emergency services, then remembered his lack of a cell phone. He considered knocking on a door to alert someone to call them, but he didn't have time to spare. He jumped in his car and sped off, hoping he wasn't a murderer.

Trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he just ran someone over, he made another turn and appeared onto Paul's street. He noticed a car that was broken into, and the blood around it. Pulling up to his friend's house, he saw broken windows, blood, but no Paul. He jumped out of his car, pulled out his magnum, and saw the front door open. He walked up to it slowly, cautiously, and opened it slightly. Inside was darkness, no movement, but he heard the sound of pounding upstairs. He watched where he was stepping, making sure to avoid the fresh blood stains and broken glass, and reached the stairs that would lead him to Paul's room. As he got further up the stairs, the sound of pounding got louder, and then stopped. Dave stopped as well, fearing that he had been found out. He backed down the stairs and as soon as his feet touched the base of the stairs, people emerged from around the corner and spotted him. He was shocked at their appearance. They were bloody, torn up, and most importantly, dead looking. They started down the stairs at him, but Dave lined the weapon up to the first one's head and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot deafened him indoors, but he kept firing as bodies started falling down the stairs, lifeless.

Jumping out of the way of the corpses, he knew that they had been dead before. Even if you just glanced at them, you knew there was no way that they should have been walking around like that. One had her neck ripped open; blood had streamed down onto her shirt, staining it red. He looked down at his own clothes, noticing that they were spotted with blood. It was even on his face and arms. Rubbing his eyes clear of it, he gagged on the coppery smell. His eyes burned from the blood, and it seemed like it was spreading throughout his body.

"This better not be transferable through blood." He muttered to himself, feeling a headache coming on. Ignoring the pain, he continued upstairs.

"Paul?" He whispered, trying not to gain anymore attention. "Paul, are you up there?" For a moment, there was only silence, and then he heard the door open. Dave walked further up the stairs until he rounded the corner to see a shaken, very pale, but very alive Paul standing in the doorway to his room. His shirt had blood on it, and he was holding a broom like it was a deadly weapon.

"Oh thank god it's you." Paul rushed over to him, dropping the broom, and gave him a hug. Dave noticed that he smelled heavily of sweat, and tried to push the giant man off of him. Outside, he heard movement.

"Paul, get back inside your room, I'll be back in a second." Paul did as he was told, and retreated back to his room. Dave reached inside of his pocket and grabbed a few rounds of ammunition. Emptying the fired rounds, he replaced them with new ones and slapped the cylinder back into place. He leaned back around the corner where the stairs were located and stood, watching, waiting for anything that moved. He spotted two of them, the ones he knew that were infected with this new virus, and waited as they got closer. They rushed up the stairs, but he fired at them and they went tumbling backwards, to the heap already gathering there.

"Dave!" He heard from outside. He recognized it as Michael's voice. "Dave, are you in there!?" Dave turned to look at where Paul was hiding.

"Paul, get out here now! They are waiting for us outside!" The door opened and Paul rushed out.

"Are they really here?" He asked Dave, who just nodded and went first down the stairs.

"Follow me, and keep an eye out for anything behind us." Paul agreed with a shake of his head and kept watch behind them as they made their way outside. There, parked by Paul and Dave's car, was Michael and what looked like his wife and family.

"Get in man!" He waved them on, rushing them to get in the car. Down the street, they heard someone scream and a few gunshots. Then, groups of those infected people appeared on both sides of the streets, rushing towards them and gaining speed and numbers.

"Shit, get in now!" Michael practically shoved them both in the cramped back seat where they saw his mother and James for the first time. With no time for introductions, Michael climbed into the driver's seat and floored the car into reverse to get away from Paul's truck. Then, he switched gears and drove forward, into the crowd of waiting people.

"What are you doing?" Paul screamed at him. "You are going to get us killed!" Michael paid him no heed, aimed for the smallest group, and plowed right through them. They hit the car and bounced, but some hung on to the sides. Michael swerved, trying to get them off, and nearly collided with another vehicle traveling the other way.

"Slow down you idiot!" James yelled at his brother from the backseat. The two stragglers on the side of the car fell off and bounced behind them onto the road. Now that they were gone, Michael let up a little on the gas. They were still not out of danger though. Even though it seemed the infected people were out of sight, they still had to deal with those who were still alive. Cars were starting to gather on the streets, abandoned, broken into, or just waiting in a jam. The group was starting to see an increase in military type vehicles as well. They were blockading the streets, letting only a few cars through at a time, after a lengthy search of its occupants and luggage.

"Take a right Michael." Paul suggested, knowing that they stood no chance of getting through before the infected caught up with them. Without question, Michael took a right on the next street.

"Where are we going?" Michael's mother asked. She was also in the backseat, saving the passenger for the pregnant Karen.

"If Michael turns onto this freeway, then we will be on our way to safety." Michael noticed the entrance ramp and drove up on it. The freeway was packed a little tighter than usual, but Michael still had some breathing room. He noticed that some of the vehicles traveling the same way had damage on them. Some were dented in various places, while others had blood on their windows and sides.

"Where _are _we going though?" His mother continued asking anyone for a real answer. Dave didn't want Michael to take his attention away from the road for a second, so he answered for him.

"We have a place up north where we will be safe." Dave just hoped they made it that far. The stinging had increased in his eyes, and everything was getting a tad blurry. Then he remembered everything he had left behind in his apartment.

"Shit, Michael, did you grab your supplies?" He hoped to high heaven he had, otherwise they were screwed.

"Yea, I managed to squeeze in quite a bit back there." Michael glanced back at them. "I guess you didn't get the chance to huh?" Dave shook his head. Sadly, all of that money and preparation had been for nothing, for him at least.

"Well Paul," Dave started, "did you manage to get the money?" Paul, who was squished in the middle, nodded his answer.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?" Michael's mother said out of the blue. In the excitement, they didn't have time to make introductions. Now, they had the chance."

"Well, this is Paul," he motioned towards his friend, "and this is Dave." James held out his hand to Paul, which was awkward in the small space they had.

"I'm James."

"Paul." James reached over to Dave for another handshake.

"James."

"Dave." His mother clasped her hands together.

"Well now that we're all acquainted, Michael here can tell us what the hell he was thinking back there." Despite the fact that they had all just nearly died and lost nearly everything, they laughed.

"I had to get us through somehow mom." Karen patted his shoulder from her seat next to him.

"It's fine Michael." Up ahead, a car swerved into another lane.

"Uh oh…" Paul whispered. The swerving car hit one driving beside it, then careened into the grassy median that separated the roads. The one that it had hit went the opposite way and smashed into another car, starting a pileup that blocked the road. Traffic turned into a standstill until the passengers of the first car came back. They weren't in the car, but they were running at them at full speed, blood running down their clothes. Every car that could shift into reverse did to try and avoid the newly infected drivers. They only succeeded in crashing into the vehicles behind them. Dave heard a window smash and saw an arm hanging out a window holding a gun.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me." Gunshots rang out in the open air, penetrating into the car's interior. Michael tried to change lanes and got a little closer to the exit ramp. They couldn't afford to sit in a traffic wreck with the infected pounding on their windows.

"Get going Michael!" James yelled at his brother, hitting the seat in front of him. "Go before we are killed!" The only problem was that everyone else was trying to do the same. Dave looked out the rear windshield to see a military Humvee pull up beside the crowd of vehicles. The doors opened to reveal soldiers armed with M4's. They rushed to cover and started firing at the infected. Michael, by then, had managed to get a spot off the freeway and turned into another suburban street.

"We are just going to do circles like this." Dave muttered, holding his head from the pain.

"Are you alright man?" Paul asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yea, I'm fine, I just have a headache." With Michael's mother and brother in the car, who had witnessed attacks up close, he wondered if he should tell them about the blood that had gotten into his eyes.

"Are you sure?" Dave nodded his head just as Michael turned onto another street.

"Shit, there are more of them here too."

"Watch your language Michael." His mother responded. "You are in front of a lady." Dave rolled his eyes and watched as Michael made another turn.

"Well it's kind of stressful mother." He swerved to avoid other cars. "We aren't exactly out for a Sunday drive and all."

"I just wanted you to have proper manners." Michael let out a sigh.

"Sorry mom, I just really want to get through this." Another turn and they were back up another entrance ramp. James looked a little uneasy.

"Are you sure we want to try the highway again?"

"It's our best bet to get where we are going." Paul answered him. Dave wasn't so sure that he wanted to be here if another wreck was started. He looked out James's window to make sure that the median was still only grass. If worse came to worse, they could always serve onto it to avoid anyone.

But despite the amount of vehicles on the highway, no more accidents occurred and the group stayed silent throughout the ride. It wasn't until Michael's mother noticed the amount of blood on the two of them that anyone said anything.

"What happened to you two?" Paul looked down at his own shirt, then to Dave's.

"He rescued me from my house when they had cornered me there."

"What exactly are they anyway?" Dave wanted to know. He had been calling them 'they' and 'people', but it was obvious that they weren't people anymore. Michael's mother took a moment to think before answering.

"Well, do you know the old horror films about the…" She didn't continue her thought. Paul looked taken back.

You don't really think their…"

"Zombies?" Dave finished Paul's sentence. James nodded his head at them. Paul still didn't believe them.

"You guys can't be serious." He looked at both of them. "Do you really expect us to believe that their zombies?" They looked away from him.

"I can't believe this." Michael spoke his thoughts out loud. "This is something out of a bad movie. Zombies aren't supposed to be real."

"But Rachel," referring to Michael's mother, "are they really zombies?" Karen put a hand to her head and closed her eyes. "It happened so quickly."

"I'm afraid so honey. I have seen enough to agree with her." Michael put a hand on Karen's. For a few minutes, the car was silent. The only sound was of the other cars on the highway. Finally, Dave broke the silence.

"I know that we have been through a bit the last couple of hours, but can we listen to the radio? To see if we can find out anything?" Michael leaned over and hit the button for the radio. A man's voice flooded the car; they recognized it as the president's.

"-we have all suffered losses in the early hours of this new disease, but I am asking the American people to pull together and help each other through this temporary setback." It seemed as if the president was clueless on how it really was. "I will now be giving the air to the CDC who will give you all instructions on how to make the best of your current situation. I now give you Dr. Charles Lee Anderson." A new voice began speaking.

"Hello America, I am not on the air right now to express my sympathy for you or your families, but to instead give you valuable information on how to defend yourself from this new virus." The man paused, and then continued speaking. "The CDC has recently given me a report on how to effectively eliminate and remove any infected persons, and treat infected items. I am sorry to say, that once a person has direct contact with infected blood or other fluids, it is confirmed that the person or persons will become sick, and soon cease to live. From there, the infected person will soon revive themselves, and attack anyone not infected."

"I don't believe this." Paul whispered to himself. Dave felt absolutely sick to his stomach. 'Revive themselves and attack anyone not infected'? He didn't want to be like that, not like them. He didn't want to die then come back to kill his friends. He started sweating, and he felt it dribble down his forehead.

"From there, the cycle will repeat itself. Despite the infected seeming invincible, they are not. One can eliminate an infected person with a heavy blow to the head, thereby destroying the brain. Once the brain is destroyed, the infected seem to stay dead once and for all. In saying that, I know that some will try to negotiate with their infected family members; this will not get you anywhere. Once a person is infected, they are overcome with a single, ultimate goal: to infect everyone around them."

Dave was getting more nervous the longer he listened to the radio. He was sorry that he suggested it be turned on.

"Once an infected person is truly dead, it is recommended that their bodies be disposed of with proper care and burned until nothing remains. This seems to be the only way to combat this new virus and its method of transportation."

Dave wanted to throw up. He wanted to get out of the car right now. He was feeling disoriented, hot, and like he couldn't breath.

"Dave, is something wrong?" Paul put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you not feeling well?" Dave looked over to James and Rachel to see their eyes filled with fear. James pointed an accusing finger at him.

"He's infected!"

"What?" Michael almost slammed the brakes. "What the hell are you talking about? Who is infected?"

"Dave is, Dave is infected!" James screamed hysterically. "Shoot him, get him out of the car, do something!" Everyone in the backseat edged away from Dave, alienating him in the small space.

"Dave, what happened?" Michael asked, hoping it wasn't true. "Are you really infected?" Dave let a tear fall from his eyes before answering.

"I had blood sprayed in my eyes while I was saving Paul." Everyone was dead silent. It created an eerie effect inside the small vehicle. Finally, Paul spoke up.

"Dave, what are we supposed to do now?" He didn't know, but he didn't want to kill them when he turned.

"Let him out of the car." James suggested.

"We can't do that." Michael argued, "We can't just throw him out alone like that."

"What else are we supposed to do Michael? Let him kill us?" Dave leaned against his window and let the cool glass stick to his forehead.

"Just pull over." He finally said. "I'll get out myself." He couldn't believe it, all that work for nothing. His head was pounding and his skin was sweaty and clammy.

"Are you sure?" Michael asked him. "We can go a bit further if you want."

"No," he said, shaking his head, "I have to get out before…" He didn't finish his thought. He didn't want to think about it. Michael pulled over a lane until he had enough room to pull over on the side. Slowing down, he finally stopped near the edge of some woods. Dave opened his door and leaned back in the car to hand his .357 and ammo to Paul.

"Don't forget about me guys. I wish things could have been different." He took a last look at every one of them and let his tears fall.

"We won't man." Michael struggled to speak without crying.

"Good luck out there buddy." Paul shook his hand. Then, with a final nod, he closed the door and watched as the car sped off. He stood there on the side of the highway and watched as their car got steadily smaller and eventually disappeared over the horizon. Dave continued standing there as cars passed him by, never slowing or stopping. Soon, his headache forced him to get away from the noise. He felt stiff, like he needed to stretch. Passing through the trees that sat by the highway's edge, he wondered how long it would be until he found himself like them. He shivered, feeling cold, but shook the feeling off. Continuing through the unknown, he stumbled over a fallen tree and spotted a home up ahead. It was small and it looked like no one was home. Dave didn't really care if anyone was inside or not, but that was where he was going to sleep for the night. Getting closer, he saw two more houses that were similar to the one he was heading for. They looked abandoned as well.

Stepping on the porch of the first home, the found the door locked. He walked around the house, checking to see if any windows were unlocked and didn't find any accessible. Since he didn't feel like breaking down the door, he continued on to the next one. There, he found the door broken so he opened it and walked inside. He tried to close the door behind him, but found he couldn't. With his growing pains, he decided that he no longer cared, and left it open. Stumbling up the stairs, he found a bedroom that looked like it belonged to a child. The walls were a light blue, and a small bed lay nestled in a corner. Toys lay scattered on the floor along with an unfinished peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Dave briefly considered eating it, but then decided against it. Getting into the small bed, he grabbed the covers and covered himself with them.

"It won't be long now." He said to himself; know that when he woke the next mourning, he probably wouldn't be human anymore. A few minutes later, Dave felt his eyes close and he fell into an uneasy sleep.


	4. Among the Dead

Among the Dead

Pain, it was all Dave could feel. It was searing through his body; he felt like he was burning up from the inside. The cold was there too. He was shivering from the cold, but he was still hot. He felt like he couldn't breath and his head was about to explode. Images flashed through his mind. Images of his friends, of his workplace, and of his gun twirled inside his mind and meshed together to form abstract pictures. They melted together and caused him even more pain. He wished it would all stop. He wished he was dead. He wished the pain away.

Then it did stop. All at once, as though it rushed out of his body, the pain was gone. It was replaced by fear and sickness. Then, that too went away as quickly as it came. Images were being formed, but more slowly than last time. It was almost as if he was watching a news reel of his recent events. He saw himself buying food, practicing with his .357, and stocking his house with supplies. The images were now showing when he saved Paul. This time, it was all in slow motion. He saw himself from a different angle, from the third person, like he was a spectator watching a game. He watched as the gun kicked in his hands as he fired and saw the bullet leave through the fire and smoke. The bullet smashed into an infected person's head, and blood slowly sprayed out of the wound. Suddenly, he found himself zoomed up on a single droplet of blood. He was silent, staring at this droplet as it flew towards his eye. He knew that this was how he became infected. A strange thought entered his head. 'Am I dead?' As if to answer his question, Dave woke up.

He was staring at the blue wall, facing away from the room. He was still covered with the blanket, but he was also covered in sweat. Somehow, he knew that he wasn't dead, but he didn't know why. He felt better than yesterday, or was it still the same day? Dave rolled over to look for a clock, and came face to face with a member of the undead.

Dave froze in fear, waiting for the attack. He waited, and waited, and waited, but it never came. All the zombie did was moan softly. He looked the zombie in the face, and saw that it was focused right on him. Again, he waited to be torn apart. Again, it never happened. He couldn't believe it. Was the zombie blind, deaf, or just dumber than the rest? He hoped it was a mixture of all three, and inched away from it, slowly as he possible could. He looked behind the zombie, and saw more. They too were simply staring at him. To Dave, there was no way this could be happening. He knew he wasn't dead, but he should be. Here in the same room, are four of the most recent victims of the virus and they were just looking at him.

Maybe the scientists were wrong? No, he corrected himself, then why hasn't this been reported? He should be dead, right now, he should be torn apart limb from limb, but he wasn't. He was glad, but he was also very confused. He, as slowly and as quietly as possible, pushed the blanket off of him, and sat up against the wall. Never, for one second, did he take his eyes off them. They were dead; there was no getting around that. One standing in the back of the room, near the door, had her entrails hanging out of her. Another, what used to be a man, was missing an ear and had a bite mark on his cheek. No, they were definitely dead.

"Hello?" He immediately cursed himself for his own stupidity. They all focused more intently on him. He was still scared to death of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more emerge in the doorway. How were they finding him? They, just like the others, did nothing to him. All they did was stare and step closer to his bed. Dave still didn't believe it, but question still bugged him. Why weren't they attacking him?

Dave decided to push his luck slightly, and put a foot off the bed. As soon as his toes hit the carpet, he expected them to lurch at him like something out of a bad nightmare. But his foot landed, and nothing happened. Another foot touched the carpet, and he felt himself standing up. Still, he wasn't dead. He examined himself, trying to see if there was anything different about him, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He stepped away from the closest zombie, and tried to get out of the room without touching them. At any moment, he expected them to grab him and pull him to the ground, but they never did. He got to the door without them even touching him, and stepped through to find the bathroom. He noticed more stumbling up the stairs towards him as he looked at himself in the mirror. His face looked exactly how he remembered it, albeit a little dirty.

Turning the sink handle, he filled his cupped hands with water and splashed it onto his face. He was still very wary of the infected right outside as they gathered near him. He finished, and dried his face on the towel hanging near the door. He turned to leave and found the zombies had grouped up around the door, blocking an effective exit.

"How am I supposed to get through now?" He whispered to himself. He wanted them to move away and felt a tingling in his mind. As he was wondering what the feeling was about, he noticed the zombies take a few awkward steps back, away from the door. He scrunched up his brow in thought. Did he do that? He stood for another moment, contemplating the possibility of it. Then, he thought that he wanted them to take another step back. The tingling returned, and the zombies moved back even more. A surge of excitement ran through him. Maybe he could get out of this alive after all. More importantly, maybe he could meet back up with his friends.

Dave made his way to the stairs, making sure the zombies stayed a good distance away from him, and made his way down. When he reached the base of the stairs, he heard footsteps and turned around to see. There they were, following him down the stairs, as if they were attracted to him like a magnet. He turned the other way and ran out of the house and onto the street. There he waited a moment. Sure enough, the ones inside came running out after him. At first, he thought they were going back to attacking him, but they stopped before coming too close and stood there again, almost as if they were waiting for something.

"There is no way this is happening." He took another couple of steps back just to confirm his theory. Again, they moved closer to him. So they weren't attacking him. Instead, they were following him. Dave didn't know if this was good or bad. On one hand, he didn't have to worry about becoming one of them, as infection should have already taken hold, but on the other hand, he had to worry about these rotting corpses and what they wanted.

As he was contemplating what to do next, his body gave him a suggestion. His stomach rumbled loudly, and the zombies followed suit, moaning at the sound. It was almost funny to Dave how they reacted. One flung its hands around in excitement at the sound and hit another beside it. He stood there for another second, and then chose to find himself something to eat in the house he had come out of. Walking around the steadily increasing group of zombies, he reentered the house to search the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find that the food was still good. It made sense that it was since the outbreak only recently hit the state. Ignoring the groupies gathering outside the kitchen, Dave pulled a gallon of milk out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. Then, he searched the cabinets for some cereal. Finding a box of Coco Puffs, he filled the bowl with both milk and cereal. Dave found a spoon in one of the drawers and sat down at the table to start eating. Halfway through, he noticed the stares he was getting from the zombies. He wanted them to look away so he could eat, so they did, and he no longer had to look at their faces.

When he had finished, he put the bowl and spoon in the sink, laughing at his cleanliness and searched for trash bags. He found some under the kitchen sink and then looked for canned goods. He grabbed as many as he could, along with some bread and water, and tossed them into the bag. When he was finished, it wasn't even a quarter full. He lugged the bag over his shoulder, feeling like a reversed version of Santa Clause, and left the house through a back door to avoid the zombies. As soon as he exited the house, he was overcome by a call from nature. He dropped the bag on the ground, and found relief in a patch of bushes. When he came back, he found a zombie examining his bag.

"No, get out zombie!" He waved his arms to get its attention. "Get away from my food." The zombie lurched back and made a sound that was between a gurgle and a whimper. Dave stopped at the noise, confused at why it was made, and then hefted the bag over his shoulder again to leave. He continued along the road, glancing over his shoulder to the persistent group of zombies following him. He didn't know whether to feel sorry for them, or hate them for the damage they have caused. Either way, he might be stuck with their company until he saw his friends again… if he saw them again that is. They could be dead right now for all Dave knew.

Trying to avoid dwelling on the possibility, Dave decided to make the best of his current situation, and tried to find a serviceable vehicle for himself. As he approached more homes, he saw that most of the cars were gone, probably taken by the original owners. He did, however, find an old junker that didn't surprise him at still being there. Someone would have to be desperate in order to consider taking it. Despite its condition, Dave knew it was better than nothing, and tried the door. Finding it unlocked, he set the bag down on the ground to see if the keys were still in the car. As he sat in the driver's seat, looking for the keys, he spotted the group of zombies still walking in his direction. He considered ducking down out of sight and hoping they would pass him, but they found him in the house without him making any noise in the first place. Maybe they would always know where he was even if he hid. Dave ignored their approaching mass and continued searching for the keys. He pulled the glove box open and sifted through the papers there. Finally, his fingers hit something metal and he pulled the keys out of the mess. Reaching over to pull the bag inside the car, he closed the door and inserted the keys into the ignition. It took a few tries, but it finally started and he drove away from the zombies.

"Sorry guys, I just don't want to end up speaking to you." Dave wondered if he was going crazy for talking to himself, but then thought that it was better to speak then to stay silent. For a while, his drive was quiet, and then he heard gunshots in the distance. They were rapid, a machinegun. Dave hoped it was the army, and drove towards the noise.

For five minutes, he struggled to find where the sounds were coming from. Every time he turned a corner, it seemed as if the noise was coming from behind him, and the longer it took, the less he heard their guns. He finally rounded another street after dodging a wreck between trucks and saw where the noise was coming from. In the middle of an intersection, a large crowd of undead had converged on a tiny convoy of vehicles both military and civilian. Dave raced towards the mob, seeing no survivors but not losing hope. He stopped his car right before he hit the first zombie, and jumped out of his vehicle.

"Is anyone still alive!?" He yelled out, hoping that he wasn't too late. Dave waited for a moment, but all he could hear were the sounds coming from the center of the feeding frenzy. "Can anyone hear me!?" Still, no one answered. Some of the zombies on the outskirts of the group stumbled towards him. He knew they weren't going to attack him because they were walking, not running at him. He stared at the closest one, waiting for it to stop near him. It stopped, but only because part of its skull had been blown away.

Dave jumped at the sound of the shot. Blood from the newly dead zombie splattered on his clothes, renewing the dried blood already there. He fell backwards, tripping over his own feet, and rolled over to his stomach. Another shot fired, and Dave watched as another zombie fell. He tried to pinpoint the location of the shooter, but couldn't. He watched as some of the zombies in the group started veering off to his right. They sprinted towards a suburban home. Dave got back on his feet and looked over the hood of the car, watching for the flash. He spotted the shooter in the second story of the home when they fired their weapon again.

Desperate for another human, he crawled to the driver's seat and got back in the junker. He put his foot on the gas and turned down the street where the shooter was. He smashed the car into a running zombie and stopped in front of the house. Leaning out the window, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.

"Get down here man! Hurry up!" Dave wished he still had his gun. Thinking quickly, he reversed until he had the car beside the front door. He positioned it so that the passenger side door was facing it so the person could jump in. A second later, a girl opened the door, holding a scoped rifle, and stopped, surprised at the sight of him.

"Get in already!" Bringing her back to her senses, Dave leaned over to open the passenger door and she jumped in and closed it after her. As soon as she was in, Dave floored the pedal and they sped off as quickly as the junker would allow. Dave did a few turns to throw the pursuers off, and then slowed down a bit. The girl put a hand to her chest to calm herself down.

"Thanks for the rescue."

"No problem, are you sure you are alright?" Since he hoped she would stick around for a long time, he wanted to make sure she was ok.

"Yes, I'm fine." Then she looked over to him and stared at him.

"What?"

"Why did you just stand there?" Dave didn't remember what she was talking about until it clicked in his mind that he didn't have to run from the zombies. Right now, he still wasn't sure if he should tell anyone about his ability.

"Uh, I don't know, I guess I was too shocked." She shook her head at him.

"That is going to get you killed one day." She stared out the window. "I'm Natalie, who are you?" Dave was a bit ruffled by her attitude, but he couldn't blame her.

"I'm Dave. Can you tell me what happened back there?" She cringed and he knew he probably shouldn't have asked. "Never mind, you don't have to tell me." The question was already asked though.

"I was with an escort that was supposed to take us to safety." She paused, frowning in the process. "Real great job they did." Natalie positioned the rifle between her legs so it would be more comfortable. "So where did you get this piece of shit?" She rubbed her hand over the dashboard.

"I found it after I lost mine." Dave felt a wave of sadness rush through him as he remembered his friends. He knew that an entrance ramp was in the area for the highway, but he didn't know where.

"Do you mind telling me what happened since you have already asked me?" Dave didn't want to tell her about the blood, so he lied.

"It was stolen before I could really use it. Some punk kid broke into it right in front of me." She let out a disgusted laugh.

"I guess that is what the world is coming to nowadays." She waved her arms. "Can you believe this mess?" Dave turned onto another street and passed a few zombies. They tried to run after them, but Dave lost them after another turn. Up ahead, he saw a gas station.

"Do you think they will have a map?"

"Of course they will, but where do you want to go?"

"I want to get back on the highway." She snorted and wiped her forehead of sweat.

"Then just take a right, and keep going straight." Dave glanced over at her. "What? I used to live in the area." He was glad, but she seemed a little more obnoxious then he had hoped. He studied her a bit more out of the corner of his eye once he had made his turn. She was young, a lot younger than him. In fact, she looked only about eighteen. He wanted to make sure.

"How old are you Natalie?"

"You aren't supposed to ask a girl her age." He gave her strange look. "Oh take a joke, I'm twenty." Well, he was never good at guessing anyway. He still wondered how good she was with the rifle. She had hit the zombie in front of him and a couple more before he got to her, maybe he could use her aim later.

"How many bullets do you have for the rifle?"

"I only have a couple more." Well, he couldn't use her for much more than company.

Making a note of it, he spotted the entrance ramp he was looking for. He noticed more vehicles on the side of the road and wondered what the highway was like. He drove up the ramp, and was shocked by the site. Up ahead, a massive pileup of cars, trucks, Humvees, and sixteen wheelers blocked the roads. Dave even spotted an APC in the wreckage. Along with the vehicles, there was also an extreme amount of the undead lurking around. Once they spotted their car, they sprinted towards them.

"Well this sucks." He heard Natalie remark. He turned the wheel so that he swerved onto the grassy middle. Struggling to maintain control of his junker, he reached the other side of the highway, where it was mostly clear of wreckage. The zombies, since they were closer, had already swung over to meet them and were on a direct path for a collision. Dave never wavered, hoping that the car was strong enough to take the hits, and drove right over them.

"Holy shit man, slow down or something!" A zombie bounced over the hood of the car and then back off, staining the windshield red. Dave felt a few more bumps, and then he finally cleared enough of the infected to be able to begin avoiding them instead of hitting them. When they were clear, he looked over to Natalie.

"First off, don't cuss in my new car." He said it sarcastically, looking for a way to lighten the mood.

"I'm not a child; don't think you can tell me what to do." She folded her arms over her chest and looked the other way. She may be twenty, but she acted like a teenager. Dave guessed she was a partier from her attitude, one of those kids parents hated or something. He never knew because he didn't have children.

"I was kidding, calm down." He was more laid back then that, but he wasn't going to give in to her and give her the satisfaction of thinking she was right. He tried to forget her attitude and concentrate on driving, which was easy even though he was going the wrong way. He didn't have to worry about traffic because there was none. He didn't see a single car that was moving. The only ones he saw were the ones abandoned on the side of the road, or wrecked in the middle of it. Either way, he still had to watch where he was driving.

"Where are we going anyway?" She asked him, looking out the front at the road. "_Are_ we going somewhere?" He noticed that she was crying a little bit and he guessed it was because she watched her convoy get destroyed and eaten alive. He would have cried too, he just didn't know anyone from it.

"I have a place up in Canada where my friends and I were supposed to get to."

"Did they make it?" She asked, seemingly afraid of the answer.

"I don't know if they did or not." Dave answered with a shake of his head. "I really do hope they did." He missed them already, and hoped them the best of luck.

"How many were there?"

"There were five others," he counted off with one hand to her, "Paul, Michael, his wife Karen, his mother Rachel, and his brother James."

"Did you guys get separated or something? Why are you alone?"

"We were attacked." He lied to her. "And they got away before I could go with them."

"They left you?" She asked, unbelievingly. Dave shook his head vigorously.

"Of course not, we were cut off from each other and they had the chance to escape." He swerved to avoid a car sitting on the road. Glancing over to her, he asked a question himself.

"So what's your story?" She fiddled with her thumbs before answering.

"My boyfriend left me behind."

"Did he leave by choice or because he was forced?" Dave hoped it was the latter of the two.

"I like to think it was because he had to, but I know it was because wanted to save himself." Dave shook his head shamefully.

"People in this world will do that to you."

"It's not like he wanted me to die." She retorted. "He still loves me." Dave wondered if she was just rationalizing his leaving her. He slowed down and crossed the median again so he was back on the right side of the road. Glancing at his gas meter, he noticed that it was almost empty, and searched for a sign that would tell him where the closest gas station was. He saw that one was coming up within the next mile so he slowed down even more until he came to the exit ramp.

"What are we doing?" She asked him, obviously nervous about getting off the highway.

"We need gas and a map." He wanted to know if he was going the right way to get to his friends. Pulling off, he turned to avoid more cars and noticed that the car was filled with zombies stuck in their seats.

"Oh god that is disgusting." Natalie turned away from the sight as he passed them by. He wondered how they got like that. Up ahead, he saw the gas station and a few others cars there. He expected zombies, but he saw people, and more importantly, they were living people. They were filling up their own cars, which consisted of about four of them. When they approached them, they were given cautious looks and he saw a couple grab weapons. He didn't blame them for their paranoia. Pulling up next to a waiting car, he rolled down the window. A young man approached him holding a rifle.

"Where are you coming from?" He asked Dave.

"Sharon Pennsylvania. Do you know where we are at?"

"Well you just got off of Perry highway, and you are about four miles off of Waterford." Dave had no idea where that was, but he just nodded his head.

"Thanks, and do you think we can fill up too?"

"Sure, Waterford is still protected by the military so you can find food up their too. We are just scavenging what is left here." So the city is still in human hands, that was good news for Dave. Maybe, just maybe, he could find out if his friends were still there. Dave thanked the man again and watched as he walked away to talk with his own friends.

"So we are headed there?" He heard Natalie ask him.

"Yep," he nodded his head, "we're going to Waterford."

By the way, this story roughly follows a real map so you can prolly find these places on Google Earth. Don't expect me to map every single detail or follow every road though, I'm not going to spend my time doing that.


	5. Going to Town

The delay was long getting this chapter up. The receiver for my internet broke on me and I couldn't have updated if I wanted to.

Going to Town

"So what is it like in Waterford?" Dave asked, taking a bite out of a candy bar. The last fifteen minutes had been spent being introduced to a few members of the group, and then in the station's store with Rick. His group had already managed to grab most of the food off of the shelves and anything else that they wanted, but Rick still wanted to check the front counter.

"Well it's being 'protected' by the military so you can expect to see a few soldiers around." Dave and Natalie were standing beside Rick, who grabbed a few cartons of cigarettes and dropped them into the bag Dave had been given.

"What do you mean?" Dave gave a nervous glance to Natalie. Rick walked around the counter to continue searching.

"It's a small town; I guess most of the army has more important positions than Waterford." He grabbed a few rolls of lottery tickets from out of the glass casing and held them up for Dave to see. "Do you think we should take these?"

"They would have to be activated in order for you to get anything." The machine was sitting beside the register. Dave knew how it worked; he had frequented many convenience stores when everything was normal. He knew that the tickets had to be scanned and a pin entered before they would be worth anything; he guessed that no one would be winning the multi-million dollar award that had been advertised only a week before.

"Oh well," he put them into the bag anyway, "just in case they are worth anything." Dave didn't want to have to carry around useless tickets, but he held the bag open. After Rick was finished with the lottery tickets, he bent down to continue searching behind the counter. Dave, meanwhile, took a moment to look through the windows of the store to the outside, noting how young everyone else was when compared to him. On the inside, he wondered how safer he had become by joining this group. Only a few had any firearms, the rest were armed with all kinds of makeshift weaponry; knives, a crossbow, and Dave even spotted a broom among the group.

"Is something wrong Dave?" He heard Natalie whisper to him, noticing his stares at everyone outside.

"No, I'm fine." On the inside though, he had a strange feeling that was unfamiliar to him. It wasn't necessarily a bad one though, just one he couldn't explain. It gave him the sense that something was going to happen, but he just didn't know what. But rather than dwell on it, he chose to look around the store, noticing that it was rather empty. Many of the people helping Rick had left the store to wait outside with everything they had collected. Making the same observation and with nothing else to do but wait for Rick, Natalie made her way over to the candy isle to make sure no one had missed anything. She had a rather insatiable desire for chocolate and, with Dave munching away on some, maybe she would get lucky too. Dave was about to follow her, but someone outside of the store yelled for Rick.

"What?" He yelled back, not bothering to even lift his head to see.

"More people are coming!" At this though, Rick straightened up and Dave saw him make sure his clothes were clean and his hair was ok before he walked through the doors to the outside. He stared after him with a strange combination of distaste and wonder.

"What's going on?" He heard Natalie come up behind him. He turned to meet her, spotting the Hershey's Chocolate Bar and water bottle in her hands.

"More people are coming." He replied, repeating the same line he had heard. He grabbed the bag he had helped fill and lugged it through the front door, the bell attached ringing as he and Natalie exited the abandoned station. Outside, everyone was looking out in the direction Natalie and Dave had originally come from. Putting a hand over his eyes to block out any unwanted sunlight, he spotted three cars coming down the road off the highway. Rick waved his hands in the air to try and grab their attention, but they didn't slow down. Instead, they just blew past them and continued down the road like everyone at the gas station had been invisible.

"Why didn't they stop?" Someone asked out loud. Dave didn't know why, but he saw the bloodstains all over those cars, and the strange feeling he had before returned, stronger than ever, combined with an overwhelming sense of dread.

"Natalie," he said quietly, "let's get into the car." She turned to look at him, but something else grabbed her attention before she could speak. Dave saw her eyes widen, and then she let out a gasp.

"What?" He asked her, confused. It seemed she couldn't find the words, so she pointed instead, directly behind him, the way the cars had come. He turned to look, and saw the giant mass of rotting flesh that was sprinting off the highway in their direction.

"Oh shit."

"Get to the cars!"

Dave didn't hesitate a second as everyone else spotted the zombies. Grabbing Natalie by the arm, he pulled her in the direction he had parked the junker. He almost forgot where it was in his moment of adrenaline, but he finally caught site of it next to a red pickup truck and jumped in the front seat, only having to wait another half second for Natalie to do the same beside him. He pulled the car key from his pocket and shoved it into the ignition, turning the key as quickly as he could. Hearing the engine stall for a moment, he slammed an open hand down on the wheel.

"This is not the time!" He yelled at the junker, pulling his stinging hand back and placing it on the wheel. The engine turned over immediately and Dave looked up through the front windshield to see the chaos that was now Rick's group. Everyone was stumbling over somebody and doors were slamming as people fought for the right to exit the parking lot first. Dave pulled out of his space but slammed on the brakes as someone else pulled out ahead of him. He jerked forward, his lack of a seatbelt not helping him at all, and then followed as the car ahead of him floored the gas pedal and squealed out of the lot. He followed while taking a look in his rearview mirror at the same time. The zombies were upon them; some of them had already reached the lot and were pounding on the windows. Thankfully, it seemed like everyone was in a car and somewhat protected.

"Go Dave, go!" Natalie screamed in his ear, bringing him back to the road. He pushed harder on the gas and felt the junker gain a little more speed as he pushed it to its limits. Considering the condition of the vehicle, he wasn't gaining very much anyway. It felt to him like the junker was about to fall apart. It vibrated as he picked up more speed and finally leveled off at an even thirty miles per hour.

"Those fucking idiots," he screamed, "they brought those things to us!" He never wanted to be near another zombie in his life again. They were disgusting and evil and he wanted nothing else to do with them. Taking a look in the rearview mirror, he was grateful to see that a few cars were behind him.

"Calm down Dave." Natalie shifted the rifle so it sat between her legs. She had almost forgotten it when Dave dragged her to the junker; luckily, it had a strap that allowed her to sling it around her shoulder. Loading the last of the ammunition into the rifle, she prayed she wouldn't need all of it.

"How can I calm down?" He asked in return, waving one hand in the air. "They brought more of those things with them." He looked in the mirror again to see cars following them. At least some of them made it out; maybe all of them did.

"Just concentrate on driving; we are only a couple miles out of town." Dave remained silent until the woods on either side of them started disappearing and gave way to buildings. They passed a few warehouses and car lots, and then they drove by homes. Up ahead, the car that was in front of them slowed, and then came to a stop a few meters before hitting what looked like the remains of a military checkpoint. Two Humvees were sitting on either side of the road but they were unmanned. Dave spotted smoke rising from somewhere deep in the town and felt a weight drop in his stomach.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." He was hyperventilating, his vision was beginning to blur a bit, and his throat was dry.

"Breath normally Dave, and stop panicking, that will get us killed." Natalie poked her head out the window and yelled at the car in front of them to move. The lead car didn't accelerate though, instead it reversed; right into the front of the junker. Both Dave and Natalie felt the impact as they were thrown back in their seats. Ahead of them, a single gunshot rang out, followed by a string of machine gun fire. Dave tried to backup as well but cars were pulling in behind him and smoke was rising out of the front of his car, he couldn't get it to move.

"Shit, we need to get out!" Dave yelled to Natalie.

"Can't you move this piece of junk?" He shook his head and watched as the people in the first car got out and ran ahead, out of sight. Dave opened his own door and stepped out onto the concrete, Natalie following. They, as well as the people behind them, followed the road deeper into town. As they passed the Humvees guarding the road, they saw blood everywhere. It was all over the streets and on the vehicles and a few bodies lie in puddles of red. It must have been what the lead car backed away from. Either way, it gave Dave and Natalie the chills.

"Where are we going?" Natalie asked him as the jogged down the road. She had her rifle to her shoulder, ready for anything. Another burst of machine gun slowed them down as Dave lost sight of the people they had been following. He and Natalie slowed to let the others catch up. When they did, they waited a moment to catch their breath before speaking.

"What's happening?" Someone asked Dave and Natalie. They weren't too far into town yet, but they could already guess what was happening. Those cars that had passed them at the station must have had someone infected riding with them. Now it was spreading to the town they were supposed to be resting in. Dave would have felt angry if the need for safety wasn't so overwhelming. He wanted a break but he wasn't going to get one so he stuffed the feeling in the back of his mind and tried to concentrate.

"Does anyone know what we should do?" A lady asked, a little out of breath at running. To Dave, she looked only seventeen years old. Like most in the group, she was empty handed and without a weapon. It seemed that a lot had been dropped in the initial panic back at the gas station. It just now occurred to him that he hadn't grabbed the bag full of food and tickets out of the junker.

"Anyone?" Dave spotted Rick jog up from the direction they had come from.

"I have a van." He announced, out of breath.

"Where?" It wouldn't be long until the zombies caught up with them and Dave knew he didn't want to be here when they did. That was a huge crowd following them and he knew no one had enough ammunition to kill all of them.

"There is a car lot just north-west of here; our parents live in the neighborhood." He started to run off but Dave grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him.

"Is there anyone else coming?" Rick's group was smaller, drastically so. Only three cars out of the original four or five were here. Dave hoped they hadn't been left behind. Rick looked at him mournfully, and then shook his head.

"No man, everyone is gone. I'm the only other one that made it." Dave let him go as he continued to make his way down the street. He hadn't known them very well, but it still stung to lose people. He started running alongside Natalie as they made their way through the streets, trying to avoid the gunfire that could be heard throughout the town. A siren was going off, adding to the noise.

Up ahead, a car sped through an intersecting street and kept going. As it disappeared from their view, Dave and Natalie spotted a few zombies that had been following it run through the streets after it. The whole group stopped until they too were gone, then they continued on their way. In Rick's hands, Dave spotted a small pistol, and hoped he knew how to use it. Natalie didn't have very many rounds left either; she would have to make them count if it came down to it. As they continued down the streets, they wondered how long it would be until they reached the lot, their spirits failing at every gunshot and scream.

* * *

"Wake up." Michael's voice echoed in Paul's mind as he tried to stay asleep. "Wake up, something's happening." With some effort, Paul finally opened his eyes and awoke to Michael's face staring down at him. In his hands was Dave's .357.

Just the thought of Dave made Paul wish he hadn't called him that day. He lost his best friend because he couldn't defend himself. It was such a shame to see Dave leave like that. They had basically thrown him out of the car and taken what he had with him. It hadn't helped that James and Rachel had been so adamant about him leaving. They could have at least helped him until the very last moment.

"What's going on Michael?" Karen's voice brought him back to reality and forced him to ignore his sadness.

"I don't know honey, but I'll go check it out." Paul looked to see Michael about to step through the door of the motel to leave. Before he could, Karen grabbed his shoulder to stop him.

"What if it is dangerous?" He turned and embraced her in a hug.

"It will be fine, I'm sure it's nothing." He looked at her in the eyes before continuing. "I'm just going to go see what's up." He kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be right back, I promise." With those words, Karen let him go and he pulled the keys out of his pocket.

"What should I do with these?" She asked, confused as to why he would be giving them to her.

"Lock the door and don't open it unless I'm there." She shook her head; trying to hand them back to him.

"No, I can't do that." He thrust them back at her.

"I don't trust this door unlocked while one of us is gone." She hesitated, but then finally took them from him.

"Fine, but be back here soon." He hugged her one last time, and then he left through the door, the spare ammunition stuffed in his pockets. When he was gone, Karen locked the door just as he had instructed. She stood there for a few more moments though, looking at the door and rubbing her swelled belly. She was still pregnant through all this and it was beginning to show.

When they had all arrived in this town, the army had seen them through a couple checkpoints. They had been given a room in this motel, but they didn't plan on staying for long. They only wanted to buy some canned food, and then continue driving. Unfortunately for their plans, the army wasn't allowing anyone to leave. Last night, they had stopped letting people _in_. Every once and a while, they could hear gunfire off in the distance and it stopped them from getting any good sleep. Paul still didn't know what was going on with Michael though, so he turned to James, who was sitting on a chair beside him.

"Why did Michael leave?" James looked at Paul, and then back to Karen before answering.

"There was an explosion."

"Where?"

"We don't know just yet."

"Well did you check the news?" James just shook his head.

"It stopped broadcasting a couple hours ago." Grabbing the remote in disbelief, Paul punched the button for the small TV in the room to turn on. When it did, all Paul saw was blue screen with white lettering, advising that it was just a temporary technical malfunction and that it would be back on the air soon. He flipped channels and saw that every one had a similar screen on it. He stared in shock.

"Why did it all stop?" There wasn't an answer until James spoke up again, this time in a softer voice.

"The anchorman shot himself on live TV." Paul took a deep, uncertain breath and turned the TV off. Placing the remote back on the table, he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Now what?" He asked, earning a few looks from the people in the room. Karen returned from where Michael had left and sat down on a small couch.

"Now we wait until he gets back."

* * *

Closing the door behind him, Michael waited until he heard the _click_ of the lock sliding into place. After he heard it, he walked through the parking lot, noticing that a few people had left there rooms as well, probably to find out some information, just like him. He looked at a few of them and decided that there was safety in numbers.

"Are you guys trying to find out what the noise was?" He asked the lot of them. They all seemed to be around his age and a few of them were armed. They all gathered around each other to speak.

"Did you hear it too?" One of them asked. Michael nodded his head along with a few other members of the group.

"Do you want to find out what it is?" Michael inquired, getting a general 'yes' from the entire group.

"Who's armed?" He heard someone ask. He brought Dave's .357 up to bear and a few more men pulled their own pistols from their hiding places. In all, only one of the five were unarmed. The unarmed man looked a little left out from not having any kind of gun, but he listened in anyway.

"Do any of you know where the explosion came from?" Michael continued asking the men, trying to get as much information as possible from them before they left.

"That checkpoint we came from last night, I'm sure of it." One of them said. He held out his hand to the man beside him.

"I'm Gary by the way." He seemed to be older than Michael, but he still had a young look about him. Michael just hoped he was a good shot. He felt that they might need it soon.

"How do you know?" The man who asked the question stuck out his own hand to Gary. "If there are going to be introductions, then my name is Brian." Gary took his hand and shook it.

"Good to know, but I'm sure that is where it came from." Brian was going to say something back, but a burst of gunfire cut him off. It did sound like it was coming from the general direction of the checkpoint. Michael looked at each man, trying to get to know their faces. The man without a gun edged himself away from the group. To Michael, it seemed like he didn't want to participate anymore.

"Let's go boys." Gary said with a wave of his hand. "Let's go figure out what's happening." Everyone except for the man with no gun started down the street. The checkpoint they were heading for was only a few blocks away from their location, so, as he started along with the rest of the group, Michael looked over his shoulder and watched as the man entered through a motel door and disappeared into the room. He didn't blame him. If it wasn't for the magnum he was carrying, he wouldn't be out here either. But he was and he needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

"It should just be down this street." Gary told them, leading the group around a corner and down a narrow road. Up head, Michael spotted a few Humvees still sitting on the road, guarding it from anyone trying to get in the town. From what he could make out though, no guards were standing post. As they approached, Gary was first to check out the vehicles. Blood was spotted here and there, and weapons lay scattered around. Bending down to pick one up, Gary hefted the heavy M4 in his hands and tried to check the magazine. After a few seconds of trial and error, he finally got it open and saw that it was still loaded. The other men followed his example and picked up the spare weapons. There weren't many, only two M4's could be seen. They should have been with the guards.

"Hey, look over here!" Michael heard someone yell. He followed the group as they gathered around a man sitting against a wall. He was dead; obvious by the way most of him was missing. From the looks of the mess, Michael guessed he had used a grenade on himself. Several bodies were around the dead soldier, showing that it wasn't just simple suicide. It sent a cold chill up Michael's spine.

But just as he thought the sight couldn't get any worse, the smell hit him in full force. The scent of burnt and dead flesh hit his nose and he felt his stomach flip. Leaning off to the side, he gave up his meager breakfast of a few hotdogs to the ground. Even after he had thrown up, he still gagged at the smell and tried not to watch as a few other men had the same reactions as he did. Soon, the ground was covered in putrid mush.

"Ok, ok, everyone back, that's enough for all of us." Gary waved them away, looking like he was still fighting the urge to puke. "There's nothing to see anymore, let's go." They all moved away from the mess and back onto the road. Michael still felt the bile in his throat and he wished he had a glass of water to stop the burning. Still, the guards were gone, missing or dead, either of which put everyone in the town in trouble. Before he could continue his thoughts though, someone fired off a round.

"Their here!" Someone yelled, and followed the statement with more gunfire. Michael turned to see what was happening when he was attacked from behind. He felt the heavy weight push him to the ground and the scent of death was never closer than before. He threw a blind elbow behind him in hopes to throw the attacker off and then rolled. It worked in a way, sending the person off him while he moved away. When he turned his head to see who was attacking him, he stared into a dead face. Then the dead face snarled and tried to bite him. Kicking at the attacking zombie, Michael desperately searched for the magnum that had slid through his fingers and onto the ground. All around him, guns were firing and men were screaming as the zombies converged on the small group.

"Someone help me!" Michael cried out, feeling the zombie grip one of his shoes. He kicked as hard as he could but the zombie wouldn't let go. It had a tight grip on his shoe and it tried to bring it to its mouth. Before it could though, Michael kicked once more with his other foot and heard a wet popping sound. The grip on his shoe lessened and Michael managed to crawl away, his hand brushing the lost magnum. Gripping the solid handle, he got back to his feet and aimed at the closest member of the undead. It was latched on to Brian, its teeth dug into his neck. Blood spurted from the wound as the zombie chewed the flesh and muscle away. Michael pulled the trigger, the kick of the gun unnatural in his hands. The bullet struck the zombie in its head, right above its left eye and sent it sprawling to the ground, never to get up again.

"Help…" Was all that Brian got out of his mouth before Michael fired another round, this time in Brian's forehead. The man fell back, right next to the zombie that had killed him. Looking around, he heard a few people yell and turned to his left, only to see a mob of the undead sprinting at them, intent on joining the fray after the time they had spent out of town. Already, Michael knew that a few people were dead. He knew this because a frenzy of activity erupted only a few meters away from him, reminding him of the nature shows on sharks and their eating habits.

Disoriented to hell, Michael started running in what he thought was the direction he had come from. He could see Gary running, the M4 abandoned along the road, with a few other men and Michael headed in that direction, hoping he could make it back to the motel in time. Coming up on the dropped M4 though, Michael took a few precious seconds to scoop it up and glance behind him at the chaos. They were dead, he knew it, and now they were chasing him through the streets they had wanted to protect.

* * *

"He's been gone a long time Paul." James whispered to him, not wanting to garner the attention of Karen or Rachel and make them worry even more.

"I know." He gave James a stern look before continuing. "You don't think something bad has happened do you?" Paul wanted to shake his head and say 'no', but they had all heard the gunfire. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Karen spoke quietly to Rachel. They were probably wondering the same thing.

"I hope he's alright."

"What are you two talking about over there?" Rachel asked them from her seat on a couch.

"We are just talking." James answered her back. Paul watched as Rachel was about to address the attitude she thought she heard in James voice but the pounding on the door stopped her.

"Let me in!" It was the muffled voice of Michael. "Let me in god damn it!" Karen rushed over to the door and unlocked it. Pulling the door open, they were greeted with the sight of a blood stained, desperate looking, M4 holding Michael.

"What happened?" Paul asked, getting up from his chair. Michael pulled Karen out the door and outside, and then waved them to follow.

"Get out, get out now and get in the car!" Paul hurried as quickly as his obesity would allow and was last out. He turned around, intent on closing the door, but Michael stopped him.

"No time man, get in the car!" He felt his friend tug on his shirt and pull him towards the car.

"What about the food?"

"There's no time, they are already here!" That didn't need explaining. Paul stuffed his way into the passenger seat as Michael took to driving. Karen, Rachel and James fit themselves into the back and waited as Michael backed out of the parking lot. Paul looked out the window and saw what Michael was talking about. In the distance, a thick pillar of smoke was rising high above the town as something caught fire.

"What's happening Michael?" Karen asked from the back seat. "Why are you covered in blood?" Michael ignored her for a moment and made a sharp turn onto another street. He hoped it would take him out of town and knew he made the right choice as the amount of buildings steadily decreased until they were surrounded by more trees. Taking a look in the rearview mirror, Michael saw a train of cars following them out of town. And as the gunshots and the screams died down and finally ceased to be heard in the distance, Michael took a deep breath, knowing that they couldn't stop.

* * *

"Get in already!" Rick was arguing with another teenager who didn't want to leave their parents behind. She couldn't accept that the bodies on the street were of her parents and she didn't want to leave them. A few had already grabbed their family and their car keys and made their way back to the lot amidst the growing chaos. Some of the others haven't returned yet.

"That can't be them!" The girl screamed as Rick took her by the arm and shoved in the van's back seat. It was now packed to the fullest and Dave and Natalie were lucky enough to have seats. It had been made to accommodate seven people, the number inside was now twelve. It's funny to see what people will do in order to survive. Under normal circumstances, Dave would have hated to be so squished inside of a vehicle, but now he was glad that so many were inside. The more people in the van meant that less people were dieing outside.

"Rick, drive already!" He heard someone yell. Managing a look outside, Dave spotted several cars pulling out of the small lot. The van's engine started up as Rick squeezed himself in the driver's seat. As quickly as the bulky van would allow, they lumbered onto the street and picked up speed. Dave hoped Rick knew where he was going.

"Dave." he heard Natalie's voice beside him. He turned to see her and the rifle as she tried to get comfortable. He would have grabbed the passenger seat if Rick's mother hadn't taken it before him.

"What is it?" He finally replied, trying to shift in a better position without hitting anyone else. They were half standing in the small space the van offered and he tried to not to hit anyone else. Looking back to Natalie, he saw her pause, and then shake her head.

"Never mind, it's not important." He didn't push it, staying quiet as everyone around him shook with adrenaline. He looked down to his own hand, watching as it shook uncontrollably.

"Where are we going?" He heard someone ask.

"We are going to keep going north until we get clear of these guys." Rick replied, not taking his eyes off the road for a second. His driving was a bit sketchy, but Dave couldn't blame him. Other cars were following the same road out of town as they were and Dave stared out the window as buildings gave way to trees and several cars passed them. They had managed to escape this time, but Dave had a feeling that their luck wouldn't last forever. Turning his head, he stopped looking outside to focus on getting his hand to hold steady.

* * *

"This fucking van is so slow." Paul heard Michael mutter under his breath. Feeling the car accelerate as Michael pushed the gas pedal further into the floor, Paul looked out the window as they passed by the van. It looked absolutely packed to the fullest and Paul was extremely glad to be riding with Michael. Several faces stared at them as they passed and for a split second, Paul could have sworn that he had seen one that looked like Dave. But as they pulled out in front of the van and Paul lost sight of the passengers, he felt the feeling of hopelessness return to him and he slumped further down in his seat, disheartened at the loss of his friend.


	6. Monsters

**Monsters**

Blood, it seemed to cover everything as it flowed down his neck. He knew it had not hit anything major; he would have already been dead. Instead, he focused on how to stop the bleeding.

Ripping open a drawer on the dresser in front of him, he snatched a green shirt from the pile of clothes sitting there. He pressed the fabric to his neck, applying pressure that he hoped would stop the bleeding. Within moments, he felt and watched as the shirt turned a dark red and smelled like copper, like him.

He dropped the stained shirt onto the floor and grabbed another, repeating the process until the bleeding started to slow. Finally confident that he had it under control, he sat back on the bed behind him, sweaty and exhausted.

He knew he had been lucky but now that did not seem so important. With the bleeding under control, he was free to focus on the pain that was beginning to resurface. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, but the sharp, throbbing, stabbing pain he was experiencing wasn't exactly comforting. He moaned in pain and wiped away the sweat that was collecting on his brow.

In the distance, he could hear several gunshots and screams, but above all that, he could still hear the moans of the undead. He heard the noise they were making outside of this house as they found any survivors. Slowly, he got up off the bed an approached the bedroom door. After he closed and locked it, he thought about how much he would hate to awake to an unwanted houseguest or two.

With pain shooting up his neck, Dave shakily walked back to the bed and almost collapsed onto it. He turned to lie on his back and suddenly felt very tired. Only intending to rest his eyes for a moment, Dave was asleep in minutes.

* * *

He was in the van once more and they were only about a half hour from the next town. Dave wasn't sure if it was a great idea, he had a very bad feeling about this. Either way, the majority of the people had agreed that it would be their best chance. He shot a look at Natalie who was sitting beside him. She met his gaze and gave a questioning glance.

"What's wrong?" He shook his head at her and turned to look at Rick who was driving.

"This isn't a good idea."

"Why is that?" She didn't understand why. Something was telling him that this wasn't right. Something was going to go wrong; he just couldn't put the feeling into words. Turning back to look at her, he struggled to speak and eventually settled on shaking his head again.

"I just have a really bad feeling about this."

"It will be fine; they couldn't have gotten this far yet." He continued his staring out the window.

* * *

Dave awoke once more, this time to the sound of pounding on the bedroom door. He still had his eyes closed, not wanting to wake up, but his arms and neck were so stiff and sore. He didn't know how long he had been out, but by the sounds he could pick up from the window next to the bed, it had been long enough. Slowly sitting up as not hurt his neck, he looked at the shirt he was still holding. It had a dark red color to it, stained from the dried blood that also covered the entirety of the left side of his body. The copper smelling liquid had dried to a crusty film onto his skin and covered most of his shirt and pants. It was especially thick around his neck and face. Taking a hand, he gently rubbed the spot the bullet had entered and exited his neck and found that although it was sore, it hurt nothing like he expected it hurt like.

Tossing the dirty shirt to the floor, Dave got off the bed, continuing to inspect himself. He couldn't go out like this, not if he didn't want to be mistaken for one of them. His eyes wandered over to the dresser and he wondered if he could find anything that fit him. The shirts he had pulled out looked to be the right size, maybe he could find something to wear. A round of thumps coming from the door reminded him to hurry.

He pulled open a drawer, finding several pairs of jeans and some dress pants. He grabbed the jeans and laid them on an unstained part of the bed. Inspecting the tag, he found that it was in his size, a lucky find. Turning back around, he searched through the confines of the dresser, finding a plain white tee shirt that seemed to fit. He quickly shrugged off his current garb and replaced it with the new clothes, trying not to stain them with his dirty fingers. The shirt was a bit tight on him, but other than that, he was thin enough to fit them.

Another loud pounding noise came from behind the door and Dave saw it shudder under the pressure. He didn't know how many were on the other side, but he had no other choice, he couldn't fit through the window. Slowly pacing over to the door, he quietly unlocked it and twisted the handle, letting the undead do the rest. Their weight pressing against the door forced it to swing heavily on its hinges, allowing them access to the room. They shuffled in loudly, moaning, bumping into each other, and reaching out their dead hands to touch him. He dodged their grasp, not wanting them to stain his new clothes, and shoved his way through the growing mob.

It seemed endless, until he reached the front porch. As his feet touched the grey pavement, he saw the mass assembled before him in the dying light. Hundreds, if not thousands of them, were standing in front of him. His mouth fell open in shock, every eye was transfixed on him, and all at once, they let out a series of cries that sent shivers down his spine and goose bumps up his arms. His thoughts turned grave, this was going to be a long day.

* * *

"It's right up ahead." Michael responded to Paul as he pressed on the gas pedal.

"I think we should skip this town." Karen said from the back seat. Michael put a hand to his pocket, making sure that the magnum and its ammo was still there, he had the same feeling.

"Why is that?" Paul asked, sitting beside him.

"I don't know." Karen continued, silently rubbing her growing tummy. "Something isn't right." Ahead of them, a car veered off the road onto another, disappearing from view. Soon, a few more followed, and Michael wondered where they were heading. A quickly approaching sign told him: he had a choice between two towns. He mentioned the choice to his fellow occupants.

"We've got a choice coming up guys. Which way are we going?" He heard James mutter something from the back seat so he stole a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

"I think we should go the way least traveled." He heard his mother mutter to herself.

"I agree." Karen added, "I think we might have a better chance at avoiding those things if we go a different way than anyone else." Paul and James seemed to agree as well.

"Alright then," He shifted into another lane, "Let's turn off here." As the exit came up, he made the turn that took them away from the main road.

"I hope we made the right decision." Michael said underneath his breath. He had not intended anyone else to hear it, but he got the sense that everyone else had. He just hoped they agreed.

* * *

Dave shoved his way through the crowd, urging them away as he made his way through across the lawn. They backed up away from him as he struggled to get to the street. Once there, he found the burnt out husk of the van sitting in the street. Dave searched for any sign that they had survived. In the van, several charred skeletons lay in the wreckage.

He wrinkled his brow in anger; his breathing became labored as he felt the blood rush to his head. He shot a deadly look around him, to those standing about. One of them gave him what looked like a questioning look; it only infuriated him more. Lashing out with his fist, he planted it square in the face of the one giving him the look. As it connected, it made a squishing sound, coating his hand with fluids. He pulled his fist back, seeing the damage he had done. The zombie's face was deformed, its nose pushed back into its skull. It fell back; a loud, confused sounding moan came from its mouth as it lost its balance and crashed to the ground. He stood back and watched as it writhed on the ground, as if it was in pain. He almost felt bad, almost. Standing there in the street, he thought back to before he had arrived.

* * *

In the van, Dave had shifted in his spot so he could look over the heads of a few people and out of the adjacent window. He watched as they passed a growing line of cars that were slowing down, preparing to exit the main road. He wondered where they were going, wishing that he could follow them. Unfortunately, the decision was out of his hands, and they were going to arrive in the next town in just a few minutes.

He was about to turn away from the window, but he glanced at a familiar car up ahead, in the line about to exit the road. It couldn't have been them, but as they passed by, Dave recognized Michael behind the wheel and Karen in the back seat. He knew Michael hadn't seen him, he had been too focused on his driving, and Karen was staring at something in her lap. She hadn't seen him either.

"Holy shit." He muttered, unbelievingly to himself.

"What's wrong now?" Natalie whispered to him. He sat back in his seat, taking a moment to comprehend the luck he had just experienced. Two of his friends were alive as far as he knew. What about the others, were they still alive? He turned to look at Natalie and answered her question.

"I just saw my friends in a passing car." She looked taken back.

"Really?" He nodded his head.

"Yes, I know it was them." The only thing that bugged him was where they were going. He was glad that they were alive, and he almost felt happy that they were going down the other road, but when would he see them again? Would he ever see them again?

"Well I'm glad they are alive. Weren't they going another way though?" He nodded again.

He glanced around to check if anyone was listening in to their conversation. "I wish we were following them off the road." She looked at him sympathetically.

"It will be fine."

* * *

He brought himself back to the present and turned to face the remains of the van. He braced his arms against the hood, feeling that it was still warm to the touch and crumbled at the touch of his fingers. As a foul smelling breeze passed over his still figure, it forced a chill down his spine. He felt tears slip down his cheek and dribbled onto the ruined van. A sob escaped his lips and he contemplated the fate of his friends.

Behind him, he heard something shuffle closer and he looked over his shoulder to see a slowly approaching zombie, the one he had hit in the face. It had an outstretched arm, ready to touch him. Dave back away from it, a feeling of disgust rising in his mind, and turned around to make his way through the crowd. They parted before him like the red sea, allowing him access to the street. He threw a look behind him to see the same zombie following him as he walked away.

Picking up his pace, he kept his eyes low to the ground, not wanting to see the faces and condition of those around him, the stink alone was enough to make him want to throw up. He could taste it in his mouth as he breathed so he placed the hem of his shirt on his nose and continued walking. Soon, he drifted back to the day before.

* * *

"Oh my god." Rick gasped aloud. Up ahead, the vehicles in the very front skidded to a stop as they reached the top of the hill to look over the city. Smoke poured from buildings and blotted out the sky. Gunshots ran out as sirens blared in the distance. A few cars immediately turned back, not even daring to make it through the town.

"What is it?" Someone said from the back, seeing the reactions of others who could see. Almost at once, every occupant in the van was talking. When a window in the lead car exploded, it turned into screaming.

"What the hell?" Someone screamed as another window exploded, and blood painted the insides of the car.

"What is happening?" The next few cars tried to reverse, to get away, but their tires were blown out before they could move. On a steeper, more forested incline to their right, armed men jumped out of the foliage, shouting orders and screaming at them.

"Get out of the car now!"

"Don't move!" Some were in camouflage, military uniforms, while others were in civilian garb. Each carried a weapon as they ran at each car. They pulled out the passengers.

"Fucking move the van Rick!" Natalie screamed beside him, hitting the driver in the arm repeatedly to get their attention. Her efforts were futile though, as he couldn't move a muscle, fear and shock paralyzing him. In the time it took to watch this happen in front of them, these men were pulling their doors open.

"Get out now!" A camouflaged man shouted, pointing a rifle in their faces. Another two men came around the others side and ripped Rick's door open and dragged him out onto the pavement.

"Move!" Dave felt Natalie as she was torn out as well and she lost the rifle underneath the seat. He moved to follow her, but before he could get out, two rough hands grasped his shirt and tore him out onto the pavement. They slammed his face into the pavement as they wrestled plastic handcuffs onto his wrists.

"Don't move." One of them warned, his breath hot on his neck. He did as he was instructed, barely even managing to breath. He felt a little blood trick down his nose and onto the pavement under him. What were these men doing? Why were they attacking them? Dave didn't know, and he didn't want to find out.

"Up on your knees." He felt a gun pushed against his back as he slowly rose up off the ground into a kneeling position. He saw that everyone that had been caught was lined up on the side of the road, kneeling in the same position. Close by, several gunshots sounded, meaning that not everyone had been captured yet. He silently hoped that they would get away.

"Now slowly get up and into line." He pushed himself to his feet and stared at the ground until he reached the end of the row. He slowly got down on his knees and looked to his side to see Natalie beside him. The man who told him to get up watched him with a close eye, and then walked to the other side of the road.

"Where's the rifle?" He asked her as quietly as he could. She took a second to make sure they weren't being watched and then replied.

"I think it's under the back seat, I lost it when I was thrown out." He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. It was hard though, considering that two of the armed men were now walking their way. Dave let his head drop to the ground, not wanting them to pay any attention to him. Beside him, Natalie did the same thing.

Dave heard someone sobbing to his right, followed by some mumbled talking. A second later, he heard someone yell.

"Shut up!" The sobbing continued for a moment more before coming to a stop. Dave looked up to his right and watched as a man dragged a bloody body out of a car. It must have been the one hit during the initial attack.

"Why are you doing this?" Someone asked loudly. In response, one of the men walked over and put the muzzle of the rifle to his face.

"Shut up." Dave watched as he shook his head to push the muzzle away and ask his question again.

"Why? Just tell us why?" A woman kneeling beside him nudged him with her shoulder, a silent effort to keep him silent.

"Just keep quiet."

"No, you can't keep me from talking." He swept everyone in line with his eyes. "You can't keep us like this." Another one of the camouflaged men, this one with longer hair than the others, moved to stand behind the handcuffed one. He roughly grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and pulled him back towards him.

"Yes we can, now shut up." He pushed his head forward and into the ground. "Or you won't live for very long." After he delivered the threat, he let him go and stood up.

"What should we do with them?" The other soldier asked, eyeing up the kneeling prisoners. The longhaired soldier gave his response.

"Mix them up and put them back in their cars." He scanned the area once more. "Try to get two of ours into each." With his orders, the younger soldier walked to the end of the line and pointed to a kneeling woman with his rifle.

"Stand up." She did as she was told and he led her to stand beside Rick's minivan. From there, he pointed to two other men, and then to Dave. "You three get over here." Dave gave Natalie a nervous look, and then got to his feet to follow the others. He waited with them, watching as people were forced into groups randomly, Finally, Natalie was picked, and then Rick, and placed into a separate group. Dave took the spare time to examine the soldier guarding over them. He was young, and to Dave, looked inexperienced. He couldn't help but come to the conclusion that they had somehow abandoned the military and became renegade. It would explain the ones in civilian clothes holding assault weapons.

One of the other soldiers walked over to the van to stand by their group. He mumbled something to the other, watching their group as he did.

"Yea, I can take care of them." The young soldier replied shaking his head. "I'll make them all sit in the back." Dave wondered if they were short a man and had his answer a minute later when they were told to pile back in the van and to sit in the very back. Dave was last in, finding that there wasn't much room left, and squeezed himself between the backseats and the door. He cast a look at the other three inside with him and realized that he didn't know anyone. Before the driver took his place though, the young man sitting next to him caught his attention with a whisper.

"Reach in my right pocked here and grab my knife." He gave Dave a serious look before shifting so that his pocket was easy to reach. Dave didn't hesitate. He turned his back to the man and found his pocket with bound hands. He struggled to reach inside but finally found the smooth, cool metal of the pocketknife. He pulled it out and held it tight in his fist.

"Go ahead and cut your ties." He heard the man say. Dave wrestled the pocketknife open until enough of the blade was out that he could start sawing through the plastic ties. He gave a nervous look to everyone else in the car, who seemed to be unaware of the plan, and then to the young soldier now getting into the driver's seat. When he was about halfway through the plastic, the soldier started up the van and placed his rifle on his lap. He glanced at them through the rear view mirror, and then waited until the other cars had started to move. Another minute later, they were moving again.

"Here." Dave whispered, finally finished with his ties. He gave the knife back to the man who started on his own ties. Dave was very glad that they hadn't been frisked; the knife would have been taken for sure. He slowly put his hands in front of him and slid the remains of the plastic off his wrists. Looking off to the left, he realized that Natalie's rifle must still be under the seat. He took another moment to make sure the driver wasn't watching, and then slid slightly down in his seat. He reached a hand down under the seat and searched for the rifle.

"What are you doing?" The man beside him asked. For a second, Dave thought he felt the cold metal of the barrel, but it slipped out of his hands at the last second. He reached further down, and now he was out of sight of the driver.

"Just hold on." He whispered harshly. Finally, he felt the cold metal and grasped it. He pulled it out slowly from under the seat and slowly sat up straight in his seat, laying the rifle in his lap.

"Where did you get that?" Dave let himself smirk, and then slowly raised it in his hands, all while watching what the driver was doing. They were traveling on a hill with only a slim guardrail saving them if they fell off the side. It was a chance they would have to take, it was better than this. He threw the rifle to the shoulder and over the seat, aiming at the back of the driver's seat. At the last second, the driver looked back, seeing the weapon and his eyes grew large. He was about to let out a scream but the sound of the shot drowned him out as it passed through his head and through the windshield, the blood soon following. The body fell forward into the wheel and forced the van onto the side of the road. Luckily, the gas pedal wasn't being pressed down, and the van slowly came to a stop.

"Go get the wheel!" The man beside him screamed. Dave made his way through the insides of the van and to the driver's seat. He reached a hand over the back of the soldier's body and unlatched the door. He tried pushing the body out, but found it still hooked into the seatbelt. Further up the road, the convoy of captured vehicles came to a stop as they realized one of their own had fallen behind.

"Hurry up!" Dave glanced behind him to see the pocketknife wielding man cutting the plastic ties of the others off them. He reached beside the seat to grab the seatbelt buckle and unhooked it. He finally cleared the driver's seat and was about to close the door when he saw more of the armed men running in their direction. When they saw the body of their friend fall out of the van, they stopped and raised the rifles to their shoulders. Without hesitation, they opened fire on them. The bullets ripped through the windshield, penetrated the metal skin of the car and bounced around inside.

"Get down!" Dave screamed, tucking his head as close as he could to his chest as the bullets buzzed by him. He heard a scream and then a gurgling sound but couldn't look up until the bullets stopped flying.

"She's hit!" Someone screamed from the back seat. Dave didn't have enough time to check what had happen although he already knew. Instead, he pulled the driver side door closed and slammed on the gas pedal. He was blind because of the blood pasted on the window and he didn't think of the wipers. Instead he plowed on forward, through the group of soldiers trying to stop them, and then the van rocked as they passed through something that was solid. The van dipped, sending Dave falling forward, and then it hit solid ground once more and leveled out. He continued to press on the gas pedal until he flipped on the wipers. They smeared the blood on the windows, but it made it clear enough that Dave could see where he was going.

"She's dead!" They were driving through an empty field. Up ahead, a few buildings appeared in his view. He knew he was heading into the city, but as he thought of turning away, an explosion threw up soil and grass only a few yards away and changed his mind. He continued through the field until he hit pavement and then he slowed down just a bit; he didn't want to attract attention now that he was in this place.

"Stop the van." Dave did as instructed and pulled over to the side. This side of the city didn't look to be in terrible shape. It must have been evacuated before the infection hit. When the van stopped, he left it running and climbed to the back seats. There were holes everywhere and the stuffing in the seats was torn out and laying everywhere. As he reached the very back, he saw her condition. Her neck was torn open; blood was running down and soaking into her clothes and the seats. Her eyes were rolled back into her head. The van was silent except for the sobbing of one of the men.

"Why did they do this?" Dave asked aloud to anybody wishing to answer; no one did. More time passed in silence as they contemplated what to do. It was eerie. Only a few moments ago, they were outrunning bullets, now they were staring at a dead body of someone who had been alive just a few minutes ago. Finally, the man with the pocketknife spoke up.

"I guess we should move her out of here." Dave nodded his head silently after another moment and pulled the second row of seats down so they had more room. They took slow, deliberate steps to move her. One put his arms under her armpits and lifted her as the other held her feet. Dave opened the side door and got out to wait. As they removed her from the vehicle, warm blood dripped onto the ground in heavy drops. They carried her a few more feet, and then laid her down softly on a patch of tall grass. They stood up, wiping the blood on their pants, and waited for another moment.

"Should we say something?" Dave didn't really know her, and they looked to be in the same position as him.

"Does anyone even know her name?" The realization that she died nameless hit him and he felt compelled to speak.

"Even though we did not know her very well," he started, "she must have been extremely brave to leave her home in an effort to escape from those monsters." He paused for a moment. "She only wanted to live and that chance was taken from her today by a different kind of monster. He stared at her face, started at the holes in her throat and felt the anger rise inside of him. "I just wish she could have made it through with us, although now she must be in a better place." He stopped speaking, not knowing what else to say. He wasn't too good at this kind of thing. Another man spoke in his silence.

"Although she was taken from us, she is in God's hands now, and there could be nothing better." He cupped his hands together in a prayer. "And there could be nothing better." He repeated, cupping his hands to pray. Dave did the same, ignoring his lack of religious faith.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

"May she rest in peace." They let the seconds slip by like minutes until they were satisfied. It hadn't been proper, it hadn't been grand, but it was all they could give at this point. Dave looked beside the patch of grass they had laid her by and picked a few flowers out of the ground. He laid them at her feet and continued to the van, following the other two. As he was approaching the van, he noticed a liquid seeping out of the back. It smelled like fuel and he guessed a bullet must have pierced the tank, draining the fluid within.

"Guys," he said, grabbing their attention, "we have a leak here." It also occurred to him that he still didn't know their names.

"My name is Chris." The man with the pocketknife said, almost as if reading his mind. Dave guessed that he didn't want to die nameless like she had. The thought burned in his mind and he had to suppress his anger.

"It's a shame we have to meet like this Chris." The other man started. "I'm Evan."

"I'm Dave." He looked to both of them. "What are we supposed to do about the leak?" Dave walked to the other side of the van to inspect the damage and to get a better look at the place they had escaped. He had a good view of the hill they had traveled down, seeing that no one was following them. He thought he saw movement though, and screwed up his eyes to try to get a better look.

* * *

"Is that them?" The longhaired soldier asked the one beside him.

"It's one of them alright." The other man was holding a scoped rifle, watching as they inspected the damaged van.

"Are you in range?"

"Yes."

"Then take them out." Slowly, the sniper aimed for a head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Dave heard the sound a split second before he felt the impact. It pushed him back and the shot ricochet off of the pavement and into a nearby home. He recovered only as quickly as adrenaline would allow and tried to cover his neck with his hands to stop the bleeding. He sprinted back to the van.

"Get inside!" He struggled to yell. They didn't need the direction though, they were already inside. Dave jumped inside the van and slammed the door shut.

"Where are you shot?" Evan asked him from the passenger seat. He was turned around, holding his arms out to him in some effort to be helpful. Chris, in the meantime, had slammed his foot down on the accelerator as more shots rang out and ripped through the car.

"Just keep going." He leaned back, ignoring the pain he was feeling in his neck, and tried to impede the bleeding with his hands. Blood was once again soaking into the van and now covered Dave as he closed his eyes. He thought he was going to die. Here sitting in a van without even his friends, he was going to die. The last things he saw before he blocked out was Evan trying to find something to help stop the bleeding.

* * *

"Did you kill them?" The longhaired soldier asked.

"I got the one in his neck." The sniper sounded disappointed. "Do you think they will make it Jack?"

"No," he looked out across the city they had driven into, "they're dead already". Both men walked back to the convoy waiting for them.

"What should we do with the rest of them?" Jack entertained the thought of having the honor of taking all of them, but he knew he couldn't, not now. They had seen the successful escape of their friends and that was dangerous.

"Make an example out of a few of them but make sure they don't hurt the women." The sniper jogged off, leaving Jack alone. He smiled at the fun he was going to have tonight.


	7. Flight

I had an English project that was eating my life. Here is the next chapter.

Flight

Paul spread the map out onto his lap, unfolding it until it covered his large gut. He had found it while sifting through the glove compartment and now busied himself with finding their location.

"Where are we at Paul?" He heard James' question but stayed silent for a moment more before answering.

"I don't know just yet." The uncertainty of where they were going was troubling all of them. The feeling hung in the air and distracted him as he traced a fat finger along the blue and red lines that represented roadways. He found his hometown, shivered at the thought of what it had most likely become, and continued along one of the highways until he found Waterford. Pausing for a moment, he reflected back on what had happened there and his frown deepened causing the lines in his face to become more distinct against the dying light. He rubbed his eyes with a hand and felt the rough skin of his palm against his eyes. It served to wake him up for a few more moments as he traced where they were going.

"I still can't believe that this is happening." The occupants of the back seat whispered between themselves and Paul picked up a few bits and pieces of the hushed conversation as he ran a finger along another line.

"There." He said, stopping his hand on top of a city they had just passed. It was nestled right on the edge of Erie Lake and they had missed it by a few turns.

"Well say it out loud," started James, "we can't read your mind." A little disgruntled at James' impatience, Paul told them all what he had just found.

"Well I'm glad we took that turn then." Michael said, keeping his eyes on the busy road. The scene was eerily similar to when they escaped their hometown and it made for an uncomfortable feeling. He glanced into his rearview mirror to see that some cars behind him were changing lanes. He wondered what for until he heard emergency sirens and spotted the police cars speeding up the road. Four of the black and white cruisers passed them by, their flashing lights blinking brightly, until they finally passed out of view, allowing the cars to retake their place on the empty lanes of the highway. It was funny that even in this chaotic time, people still obeyed the laws.

"I wonder where they are going." Paul commented, watching them disappear. Police meant that authority was still in place and that wherever they were going might still be safe.

"I guess that we can't really be sure." Michael responded, a frown appearing on his lips. For all they knew, those sirens could be on just so the cruisers could get by the heavy traffic on the highway. The thought of someone taking advantage of their authority like that sent a wave of anger running through him and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. As tense as he already was, Michael ground his teeth together in frustration and his thoughts eventually wondered back to where they were headed. He questioned Paul accordingly.

"Well I guess we can still head up to my place in Smith Falls if you want." Paul let himself sigh. "I mean, where else would we go?" Even though they may not have wanted to admit it, Paul was absolutely right. They didn't have anywhere else to go. None of them had any real family near their current position and even if they did, it would have been a huge risk to try and pick them up. The only place to go was to that damned cabin of his.

"I guess that's where we are headed then." Silence once again took hold on the car's occupants.

* * *

Turning the ignition key, Dave felt the engine rumble to life; it almost drowned out the sound of their moaning. He made sure that the windows were up and that enough gas was in the tank to take him away from this place. Gently placing his foot on the gas pedal, he edged the car forward into the huddled masses of the undead. Not wanting to damage the vehicle, he slowly made his way through the huge crowd that was just standing on the street. There wasn't any order here, just the dead bumping into each other and swinging their arms about aimlessly. The whole city seemed to be in similar shape.

Looking in his rear view mirror, he squinted against the dying light. The swirling oranges and reds were a strong contrast against the dark and meek colors of the dying city and its new inhabitants. He suppressed a thought of hopelessness and tried to instead focus on what he could do now. As he continued slowly through the streets, he could only come back to the conclusion that his new friends were being kept against their will. The thought of what could be happening to them almost made him wish that he hadn't run. It almost made him wish that he had stayed inside the van as a prisoner; the women who had been killed would have still been alive if it wasn't for him.

"Why did this have to happen to me?" He stopped the car for a moment to put his head on the steering wheel. For the few minutes he sat there, his eyes closed and thinking, he could only think of all the things that he had done wrong in the last few days. He went over all of the decision, minor or major, that he had made. What if they had left sooner? What if he hadn't been kicked out of the car by Michael's family? That last thought made him angry, and he picked up his head and pushed his foot down on the accelerator, hard. The car jerked forward, pushing down a few zombies that were in front of him. Dave just continued over them and he felt the anger continue to rise.

As he hit another crowd of zombies, Dave ignored the loud and jerking thumps and thought back to when he was saving Paul from his own house. He knew that when he had shot those things as they had charged down the stairs, he had become infected. But what if he hadn't? He didn't want to think of the answer for a few minutes, he just continued running down the undead in a blind fury. But finally, the car's engine sputtered some and Dave saw a few engine lights click on. Not wanting to totally ruin his car, he accepted what he couldn't ignore. If he hadn't been infected, he would still be with his friends and wouldn't be here, alone. Stopping the car in the middle of the street, he threw a hand against the window in anger, not caring how much it hurt. Then he continued to abuse the car's insides by pounding against the steering wheel, hitting the seat, and ultimately kicking the floor in a fit of anger.

After a few minutes of this, Dave found himself out of breath, with stinging hands, and only more frustration. "Why did it happen to me!?" he screamed, almost expecting an answer. It never came. The only thing he heard was his own ragged breathing and the sound of those things outside. He continued to sit there for a moment, a confusing mix of anger and sadness clouding his thoughts. He hated his friends for letting him go so easily, but then he wished with all his soul that he could be with them again. He hoped for their safe travel and then almost wished that they knew how he was feeling right now. He immediately threw the last thought out of his head. He hoped that they never got into a situation like his. He couldn't wish this on them, not on Paul, Michael, or even James or Rachael.

He sat back against the seat and closed his eyes. He wished it all away. To him, there weren't any zombies outside, he couldn't hear them. In fact, he wasn't even inside of a car; he was sitting on a beach with its calming ocean spray and the sound of waves crashing against the beach. He smelled salt in the air and watched as the sun dipped lazily over the horizon, beads of glitter dancing on the ocean surface. Then the sound of pounding on the car window brought him crashing back down to reality's cold and unforgiving embrace. Dave opened his eyes and turned his head. Outside the window, a zombie was hitting the window, almost in an attempt to get his attention. He felt his anger boil over once again and he reached for the door handle. Pushing it open, he forced the zombie back and got out himself.

"What the fuck do you want!?" He stepped closer to the thing, and then recognized it. A little taken back, it took Dave a second to see it as the one he had punched in the face a few miles back. The damned thing continued to follow him. But for now, it just chose to stand there, staring at him and leaning into the wind. Dave stood there, staring back, wondering why it would continue following him even after he had struck it. Then he was reminded that they were all just walking around aimlessly, eating whatever they could. They don't think about what they do, they only act. This fact made him want to scream in frustration.

Dave took a step back and felt the hood of the car. Sitting on it, he ignored the warm metal and instead covered his face with a hand to think. He didn't want this thing following him forever. But he couldn't get rid of it short of bashing it's skull in with a blunt object or worse, his own fist. He heard it take a step closer and he wished it away from him. He hated the things. They were just mindless eating machines. They had no control over what they did and they couldn't even see what was wrong or what was right. It got closer to him and so did the rotting smell of flesh. He still didn't look, he didn't want to. He heard it make a wheezing sound, as if it was having trouble breathing, and then it stayed silent. Dave waited for it to do something but it never did. After a few seconds, Dave looked up at it, seeing that it was standing beside him. Its eyes were cold and dead but they were locked onto him.

"What do you want with me?" His voice wasn't sharp or harsh. Dave had just had enough of the death around him and it just about drained his ability to hate. In the last few days, he had seen people murdered in front of him, he had even killed someone. He will probably never see his old friends again and his new ones had been taken away from him so swiftly that he couldn't do anything about it. So when he didn't get an answer immediately, Dave just put his head in his hands again and let himself cry. He let his hate and frustration drain out of him in his tears and in his sobs. He cried for his friends and for those who had lost their lives and for those who will probably lose their lives soon enough. He cried and he didn't stop, until he felt a weight on the hood beside him and a hand on his shoulder.

* * *

"Welcome to New York you guys." Michael announced it just as they crossed the state's border. They had been waiting in deadlock traffic for almost two hours now and if they really needed to, one could take a rest stop and be back before their vehicle moved. But almost no one wanted to risk that in darkness. Michael shivered in his seat, remembering a time when he didn't fear the night. Now he wouldn't even step foot outside unless he had to. And the almost constant gunfire in the distance didn't help one bit.

"Yea, what a vacation." James muttered in the back.

"What are we going to do about traffic?" Karen's voice almost broke Michael's heart. They were stuck in this for who knows how long and they couldn't do anything about it.

"I don't know, I guess we just wait it out."

"Are you sure that there isn't another way?" His mother asked. They all wanted to get through this but the only other way off the road was through the grassy fields to their right. And some people, to Michael's amazement, were trying just that. A half hour ago, they had seen a group of vehicles carve a path right through the long grass and pass them by. Even military vehicles were taking this path and an APC had driven passed just a few moments ago, kicking up dirt and soil as it went.

"I don't think that there is." They sat for another few minutes, listening to a loop of music that was playing on the radio, until the line of cars finally started moving again. "Finally." Michael muttered under his breath, gently pressing the pedal down so they could move forward.

"It's about time we started moving." James commented, also seeing that the traffic was beginning to move. The fact that they were moving kind of lightened their spirits. They weren't just sitting there anymore they were actually getting somewhere.

"I just want to know what held us up." Michael realized how stupid the question was right after it left his mouth. They were running from an extremely contagious virus that turned its victims into flesh eating monsters, of course there were going to be some delays. Lucky for him, if anyone thought it was a dumb question, they didn't show it.

"Maybe there was a wreck or something." His mother suggested. Maybe she was right, and this made him feel better. There might have just been a crash while people were streaming out of the cities to find somewhere to go. Michael shivered when he thought of what may have caused it and hoped that he was wrong, it made his brief feeling of happiness go away.

"Wow," Paul started, "we are really going now." They had reached about thirty miles per hour now, far faster then they had gone in the last few hours. And it was a relief to everyone, but also a tad suspicious. He had a gut feeling that something was wrong and glanced to his left to see a streaming line of cars heading the other way down the highway. They must have been crazy, heading the other way like that, it almost certainly meant death.

"We are finally out of here!" Karen cheered, her arms raised in the air in victory. James and Rachael joined in their own way, choosing to instead share a smile. But even Paul joined in, smiling and thanking some invisible force that let them go. It was hard for Michael not to join in, so he did. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to pat Paul on the shoulder, long enough so that he didn't see the car in front of him come to an abrupt stop.

"Look out!" Karen screamed in an attempt to get her husband back to the wheel. It wasn't fast enough, and their car rammed into the one in front of it at around thirty three miles per hour. The impact jerked them forward in their seats and deployed the airbags. The last thing that Michael remembered was the sound of squealing brakes and crunching metal.

* * *

Dave felt the cold and rotting hand on his shoulder and flinched away. The hand didn't move even though he wanted it to, it just remained on his shoulder. Looking to his side, he saw the thing sitting next to him. He stared into its face, and saw its mangled mouth twisted into something along the lines of a frown. It still gave no indication, at least to Dave, about what it was doing or hoped to accomplish.

"What?" He said, almost waiting for an answer that he knew would never come. "What do you want?" He saw the zombie take a slow breath and then let out a low wheezing sound. Dave wiped away a stray tear and continued to stare. Did it want something from him?

Dave was still wondering what to do when the zombie raised his hand and softly brought it back down on his shoulder. It repeated this action several times before stopping and looking at him expectantly, almost hopefully. When Dave didn't give it the response it was looking for, it gave a low moan and rubbed Dave's shoulder with its hand. A hundred different thoughts ran through Dave's mind as to why this thing was touching him; none of them were welcome with open arms.

"What do you want?" He asked again, eyeing the zombie. Now that he was looking closer, Dave noticed that it had once been a young man before it died, probably in the early twenties. Dave was only a few years older and he quickly found himself feeling sorry for the one sitting next to him. He ran his eyes over it once again, taking a closer look at the reason it could only make wheezing sounds. A deep gash had been torn along its throat, exposing the muscle and tissue underneath. He flinched away when it tried to moan at him again; only another wheeze came through. He shook his head sadly. "You poor son of a bitch." It hadn't helped when he had punched it in the face.

He got up off the hood of the car, noticing that the sun was almost out of view, and looked at his surroundings. He had been driving parallel to the inner city, in the more suburban areas, and now he needed somewhere to stay for the night. He studied the homes around him and saw that a lot of them had been damaged in the evacuation either by the undead, who were still pounding on windows, or by the other humans. Many of the front doors were broken down and the same went for first story windows. Dave wanted to feel safe, so he picked a home nearby that still had most of its windows and a sturdy looking door.

Dave made to get back into the car, but he found that the zombie had already moved off of the hood and was nearing the passenger side. He didn't interrupt it; he almost wanted to see what it was going to do. So he watched as it tried to figure out how to get inside the vehicle. First it tried to push it open. When that didn't work, it tried to pound on the glass. When even the glass failed to give in, it finally tried pulling, at first on the side of the door, then finally the handle itself. With a hearty click, the door opened and the zombie, seemingly with a smile on its face the whole time, firmly planted itself in the passenger seat. Now that it was apparently where it wanted to be, it turned its head to stare expectantly at Dave.

"You have got to be kidding me." Dave was both shocked and slightly amused. Then he realized what he had allowed to happen. How was he going to get this thing out of the car now? It had been the only car he had seen undamaged, with the keys still in the ignition, and with at least a half tank of gas. He thought for a moment and then sauntered over to the passenger side. It was still staring at him when he arrived next to it. "Come on, you have to get out." The "smile" on the zombie's face disappeared and was replaced with one of distress. Dave noticed the change. "Don't do that to me." It was almost like reprimanding a child. "I have to go now and I can't take you with me." The zombie still did not want to get out and Dave got a hand on its shirt. If it wasn't going to get out on its own accord, Dave was going to get it out himself. He gave a light tug, intending to coerce it out of his car. The zombie didn't move far, it writhed in protest and made a whining sound. It was like fighting a child that was hell bent on not sharing.

After a few minutes of this, Dave realized that he wasn't getting anywhere. "Fine," he said, staring at the zombie, "have your stupid seat." He closed the passenger door and walked around to the other side. He opened his own door and took his spot at the wheel, finally fiving up on getting it out of the car. Giving a heavy sigh, Dave gave a look to the one sitting next to him, noting that the "smile" had returned, and pressed his foot to the accelerator. Two hundred feet later, they arrived in the driveway of his temporary home.

When he switched the car off and unhooked his safety belt, he almost expected the zombie next to him to complain in some way. After all, they had spent a good several minutes struggling with each other. But when he was only met with silence, Dave just got out of the car, closed the door behind him, and made his way to the front of the home. It was the typical two story suburban dream house, painted a pale blue, only in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

He had seen that the front door had been ajar, it had been part of the reason that he had chosen the home in the first place, and stepped up to it. He gave the heavy door a push and let it reveal the inside to him. Dave was about to step inside when he heard a ruckus behind him. He turned around to see the zombie in his car opening the door to get back out. It got the door open much faster then Dave imagined possible, especially for a zombie. It was following him everywhere, Dave mused, which meant that it was probably going to get in the house one way or another as well.

The zombie shuffled out of the car, not bothering to close the door, and followed the path to the front porch where Dave stood. It looked at him, and then to the home, then back to Dave. It gave another wheeze and then continued past him, inside the house. Dave didn't stop it, one would be better then fifteen if it managed to break the door down and let others in. Giving a last look to the street and the zombies behind him, he stepped inside and closed and locked the door.

Inside, he found himself inside of a living room. Dave ignored the pictures on the walls; he figured that it would be better if he didn't imagine what the former owners had probably become. Instead, he switched on the TV, noticing that the zombie had already disappeared into another room. Dave didn't really expect anything to be playing and as he switched through channel after channel, he found that the only news source was the national news station that was focused in New York. But even this was almost as bad as no news. Reporter after reporter was saying the same thing, almost in an effort to get the news out as much before they were shut down, "shoot infected in the head, then burn the bodies". The scrolling messages at the bottom of the TV were scarce as well as evacuation centers were overrun one by one and erased from existence, as if they hadn't been there at all. After a few moments of this, Dave switched it back off, he couldn't watch the world die.

Stomach growling, Dave sauntered through the house to search for the kitchen. His neck still ached, but he was going to get something to eat and he found the room quickly. Pulling open cabinets, Dave found packets of instant noodles and all of the utensils that he would need to cook them. The only problem was that he hoped the electric oven still worked. Nervously turning the knob, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was still working. He sat the pot on the stove and poured the contents of the packet in the pot, catching the flavor packet before it fell in as well. For a few long minutes, Dave stood in front of the stove, stirring his meal, listening to distant screams and gunshots, and allowed it to boil. After he sensed that they were finished, he poured it all into the bowl and mixed in the flavor. He didn't bother cleaning up after himself; he just wanted to eat and go to sleep.

Next to the kitchen was a small dining room, Dave chose that spot to sit down and eat. Before the zombies, it had probably been a very nicely kept home but now the wooden table he was sitting at was covered in junk that the previous owner must have thought could help him escape. A suitcase had its contents spilled over the table, clothes and food mingled with papers and flashlights; it was a mess. Dave cleared away enough so that he could eat comfortably and began doing just that. He wondered if food like this would ever be made again.

Halfway through his meal, the zombie stumbled in from the door he had come out of. Dave paused from eating for a moment to watch as it stood by a row of shelves mounted on the wall. Framed pictures and other miscellaneous items were sitting there and, one by one, were picked up and examined by its dead hands. Every object was given an attentive stare by it, at least, as attentive as dead eyes can give, and then sat back down where it had been. This process was repeated for a few minutes before the zombie lost interest and limped over to where Dave was sitting. By then, he had already finished and was getting up. When he saw that it had walked closer, Dave gave it a questioning stare only to get nothing in return. The zombie just kind of stood there and Dave walked away from it, intending to find the stairs and a bedroom to sleep in. The zombie followed after him, stiffly climbing the stairs that Dave soon found and then trying to follow him inside the bedroom.

"No zombie," Dave said trying to stop it from entering the bedroom, "bad zombie." He tried to push it away but it already had its foot in the door, literally. It managed to push _him _back and enter. Dave cursed, frustrated at the persistence of the undead. It just stood in the middle of the room, doing nothing. Why did it _have _to be in the same room? Knowing that he probably couldn't do anything about it, Dave resolved to get a good night sleep anyway. But first, he was going to see if he could find something out about his unexpected companion, especially if it insisted on being near him. He stepped behind the zombie and saw a bulge in the back pocket. That meant that it could be a wallet. "Don't take this the wrong way Mr. zombie." Dave said, reaching a hand into the back pocket. It didn't react at all which was probably for the best. Dave felt leather and pulled it out, seeing that he was right about what the object was. He pulled the wallet open and looked for an identification card, ignoring the wads of cash and credit cards, they were probably useless now. Finally, he grabbed the ID card out and looked at it. The picture was of a man, George Clemens. Dave had been right when he had guessed the age of the man; he was only twenty three when this picture had been taken.

Finding his way back to the bed, Dave sat down on the springy mattress and gave a long, somber look at Mr. Clemens. He silently compared the face in the picture to the mess that was standing in front of him. The strong face and piercing blue eyes were gone, replaced with the glassy gaze that accompanied death. His messy and matted hair was sharply contrasted with the clean cut and shaven look that he once wore long ago. Dave exhaled long and slow, savoring the fact that he was still alive, then feeling the guilt that accompanied it. Mr. Clemens had a deep blue shirt on, one with a collar and with buttons that reached all the way down to the end. Dave just had a plain white T shirt and in a way, he was underdressed when compared to him. He couldn't compare with the state of dress that Mr. Clemens had, even if most of it was covered in gore. For a brief moment, Dave thought that only a few days earlier, when things like money mattered, Mr. Clemens had probably been more successful then him.

Then as quickly as his musings began, they abruptly stopped as soon as Dave allowed a yawn to escape from his mouth. He wondered briefly about is he should do anything about Mr. Clemens, but then decided against it. He was tired and he didn't feel like fighting a zombie for his room right now. Besides, he wasn't doing anything but standing there.

Falling onto his back, Dave pulled the covers over himself and closed his eyes. When he finally fell into a peaceful sleep a few minutes later, Mr. Clemens just continued to stand in the middle of the room, staring at his still form.

* * *

"Get up!"

Michael could only hear muffled voices.

"Get out of the car!"

"Move!"

He could hear gunshots very close to him and he tried to reach for his own gun. Everything was muffled to him though, like someone was holding pillows to his ears. He still hadn't opened his eyes. The only thing he saw was blackness.

"Michael, you have to get up!"

It was Karen.

"Just leave him!"

That sounded like Rachael.

He grunted something intelligible and felt a line of hot liquid seep down onto his face. It dripped into his mouth, he tasted copper. He must be bleeding.

Now his hearing was returning, a loud ringing sound still blocked out most of everything. He tried to open his eyes, ignoring the fact that they felt like weights. He swung his arms about, trying to get a feel for what was going on around him since he couldn't yet see. He touched the roof of the car, then the sharp stinging of glass. Why was glass on the roof?

He managed to mutter something, trying to get his family to hear him, but nothing responded. He heard more gunshots, clearer now that his hearing was getting better, and then the sounds of screaming.

It was quiet at first, like it was far away. Then it rose in volume, pitches, and he recognized that many people must be making this sound at once.

"Hello?" Michael said aloud, hoping that someone would hear him. Where was Karen? Where was Paul? He then realized that he couldn't feel the seat underneath him. The straps of the seatbelt were digging into his chest, hurting him. He had to get out. He opened his eyes and thought that it was strange that the world was upside down.

"Michael?" He heard the voice behind him, recognizing it as James. Adrenaline surged through him at the sound of another human.

"What's going on James?" Michael struggled to remember what happened.

"Shit Michael, I'm hurt bad." His brother's voice was croaked and strained.

"It's ok James; I'm going to get you out of this." Michael tried to release his seatbelt. He reached beside him and felt the hard plastic button. Pushing it, he heard it _click_ and release, sending him straight down. He put a hand out to brace himself and he rolled out of the seatbelt strap and onto the hard ceiling. He heard bits of glass snap and crack as they dug into his back. He ignored the pain, ignored the blood that was staining his vision, and stared into the face of Paul.

"No man, I don't think I'm going to be ok." Michael almost didn't hear him; he was focused on his old friend's face. It was staring back at him, mouth a gap and noiseless.

"Paul?"

His friend didn't answer.

He looked so awake though, so alert. Yet he didn't.

"Paul, are you ok?" He then remembered that his friend hadn't had his seatbelt on.

"Michael, are you still there?" James sounded like he was gurgling something. "I don't think that I'm going to make it."

Michael turned his body so that his legs were hitting the glass window beside him, only it wasn't there. His legs stuck out where the pane should have been.

"It's going to be ok man; I'm going to get you out of here." He was saying it to comfort himself more so then his brother. "We are going to get through this." He inched his way out of the car's window, feeling the holster that held the .357 slap against his side. When he was out, he put his hands on his knees and quickly examined his surroundings. They were in a field, the one that had been on their right only a few moments before, and the grass was pushed down and matted where they had apparently rolled off of the road and came to a stop. The night was lighting up with flashes of gunfire appearing in between the cars that were backed up on the highway forty or so feet away. Screams were loud and terrifying, bloodcurdling. No wonder those damned cars were going the other way, they must have seen what was up ahead.

He heard his brother yell for help again and it brought him back to the present. Struggling over to the back of the flipped car, Michael wiped the blood from his eyes and spit onto the ground. He ducked his head in the car's window and saw his brother sprawled onto the roof. His seatbelt must have snapped, leaving him twisted and bloody.

"Michael." His brother gasped, thick blood dripping from his mouth. "It hurts." Michael averted his eyes and reached underneath the door for the handle. He grasped for it and pulled it open, crawling to the side so that it opened fully.

"Can you move?" Michael glanced behind him, ignoring the sharp pain in his neck to make sure that nothing was there. He was all too aware of the danger that lurked on the highway. When his brother didn't respond, Michael asked again, loudly this time. His brother finally answered.

"Yes, I think I can."

"Good." Michael knew that he shouldn't move his brother after such an accident, but the only other option was to leave him. That was not acceptable. "Now I'm going to have to move you." He made sure his brother was listening. "It's going to hurt." James nodded, showing that he understood, even if he didn't want to.

"I'm ready." James reached his hands out and Michael grabbed them. As gently as he could, he began pulling his brother out of the wreckage of the vehicle. As soon as he did, his brother began screaming.

"I'm sorry James." Michael gasped, releasing his brother at once. James shook his head.

"I don't think you can pull me out." He had only been moved a couple inches.

"Yes I can, you have to move." Michael looked around again and saw fuel leaking from the car's underside. They had to get him out, now. "Come on." He reached for his brother again and pulled, trying to ignore his brother's screaming.

"Stop pulling! Stop pulling!" His brother cried, begging for the pain to stop. Michael didn't respond, didn't stop. He only pulled faster. "Please Michael!" He was almost out of the car; Michael could see his waist before he had to halt his pulling. As he was catching his breath, he watched his brother writhe in pain. His heart wrenched at the sight and he wiped away the blood that was sticking to his brother's face.

"I'm so sorry James." His brother opened his mouth to protest but Michael grabbed a hold of him again and began pulling. The only sounds that he made were screams of pain.

Finally, after another few minutes of pulling, Michael finally had his brother out of the car. By now, James couldn't scream anymore; he had worn out his voice. Michael wished he could express the mountain of guilt that he was experiencing for trying to save his brother, but nothing came out of his mouth but more apologies.

After another minute of rest, they had to begin moving again.

"Come on James." He tried to get his brother to stand, knowing that they had to leave. He still didn't know where Karen or Rachael was. He only knew that the fuel was leaking on the car and that death was lurking somewhere behind him.

"I can't do it." His brother said, struggling against him. "I don't think I can stand." Michael sat him up and put James' arm around his shoulder.

"You have to stand buddy." He began to lift him. "We can't stay here." His brother grunted in pain but allowed him to lift him; he was probably numb to the pain by now.

Finally on their feet, Michael looked to the highway and then to the tree line that stood parallel to the road. That had to be their best bet and Michael started limping across the field, his brother struggling along with him. It might as well have been miles away because as soon as they were away from the car, Michael heard heavy footsteps above the gunfire and looked behind him to see the bloodied faces four infected running at them. Seemingly outraged that they had survived, the zombies roared their disapproval and picked up speed, closing the distance quickly.

"Shit." Michael reached around his waist to grab the .357 and aimed it behind him. Trying to aim and hold his brother up at the same time was difficult; the first shot ripped through the leading zombie's shoulder and sent it spinning down into the grass. The next shot struck the second one in the neck; it kept running. Then, the three still running at them fell to the ground; dirt kicked up around their feet and bullets rained down upon them, seemingly from the Gods. Michael gasped at his luck, looked off to his side and saw that he wasn't the only one running into the field. People from every walk of life were fleeing the highway. From families to office workers, military personnel to construction workers, armed and unarmed people streamed towards them.

Michael let himself pray for the first time in a long time and turned to continue on. He made it five more steps before soldiers flanked him, their big guns helping him feel safe.

"Keep running for the forest!" One of them yelled. He made eye contact with him and let himself smile. The soldier returned it and spun around to cover them. "Keep going!" He yelled. "Don't stop for anything!" Automatic fire pierced through the air.

They didn't stop running.


	8. After Effects

After Effects

From atop the guard tower, Jack could clearly see that the northern town of Erie had finally been hit by the infection. It had taken a while for it to catch up to the eastern side of the country, but now it was finally hitting it in full force. If he listened close enough, he could almost imagine hearing the sounds of terrified and dying people that were guaranteed to be scurrying away from it.

Exhaling deeply, he turned around to give a nod to the "soldier" standing behind him. He let a chuckle escape from his lips when he realized what he had classified the former prisoner as. Indeed, if you didn't pay any attention to the details, the man standing in front of him looked very similar to a soldier you would see, or would have seen, on the news only a few weeks before.

This man was not a real soldier of course. In fact, he probably wasn't even a respectable man. He had come from the same place Jack had only a week before: a prison. At an earlier time, this man was locked up in a cell deep inside a rather defensible jail. Of course, if it had indeed been a defensible structure, this man wouldn't be here. It seems as though all of the thought that had been put into making the facility impenetrable to malevolent humans was wasted when it came to this new enemy. Razor wire, it seemed, did not work on the already dead.

Grabbing a hold of the metal ladder, Jack made his way back to the ground. Ladders had always made him a little nervous, but that was something entirely different then the situation he was in currently. These men, most of them anyway, were entrusting their lives to him. He had helped them escape from their former prison, he had led them onto a spree of looting that none of them had ever experienced, and he helped them find safety in this abandoned military facility. In it, they had found old uniforms, manuals, and more importantly, food and guns. Most of the almost grey-white military uniforms, the ACU, had been tossed aside for camouflage that the men thought more practical. Most chose hunter's camouflage, or some other type of woodland pattern.

To Jack though, it didn't matter so much what they had found, it was how they were going to use it. The weapons they found, assault rifles and handguns mostly, were only useful as long as the ammo held up or if any living thing thought they were still loaded. To compound this disadvantage further was that the men had not even a speck of training in using them. The hits they had scored on a small convoy only a day before had been with hunting rifles, ones that many of the men, even Jack, had experience with. The only one with any kind of skill so far was Jack's former cellmate Benjamin, who seemed to excel with scoped rifles.

His feet making contact with solid ground below, Jack was brought back to reality once he heard a cheer emanate from deep within the facility. Something was going on and it was probably unpleasant for anyone unwilling to accept the truth of the new world. Thinking of the number of people he had brought back with his incursion group, he knew that the ex-prisoners were most likely going to be taking advantage of them.

Taking a look around the base he had commandeered, he scanned the six barracks and other general buildings that ran a half circle around a parade ground that occupied the center. The watch towers, all eight of them, ran around the edges of the small compound. In front of those were fences strung with razor wire at the top. Jack knew that these defenses would have to be strengthened should they ever come under attack by forces living or dead. Jack disregarded that last thought, they _were_ going to be attacked eventually and there was no denying that.

He stepped away from the ladder and made his rounds around the camp fences. He made sure that no holes existed in the metal rings or any other weak spots. As he did this, he also scanned the tree line for any movement, any sign that something was out there. He was not going to be surprised.

When he finished, he made his way past several groups of chatting inmates and stood in front of a two story building that sat at the very end of the half circle. He took a glance at the brick structure before pushing open the door and stepping inside. He found himself in a small room with another door and a window similar to those check-in counters at the doctor's offices. The army couldn't let just anyone in after all.

He pulled out a key that was hanging on his belt and unlocked the other door, this one made of a solid and cold metal. He heard the lock _click_ and pushed it open. When he was in the new room, he made sure the door behind him was locked; he didn't want anyone in here without his permission. Rows of lockers filled his vision, lockers that held various arms and munitions. From M16 assault weapons to M9 handguns, this place had it all stored. Unfortunately for them however, it seems that whoever manned this place before them had taken a large portion of the stockpile with them. Many of the lockers were empty and the ammunition looked like it was low.

The thought of the military reminded him that the TV's were still running the news. He turned to his right and found the door that led into the check-in office. A small TV was sitting on the desk, positioned so that he could watch both that and the door. He sat down in a metal chair and took a look around to the boards that hung on the wall around him. There were various posters detailing the procedure for weapons check and drills, along with reminders that they were role models to the civilians. He ignored this and turned back to the TV. Pushing a button on the front, he watched it flicker on to reveal cartoons. Finding the button to change the channel, he only had to press it once.

"-are no longer taking refugees from the United States, claiming that they cannot risk infection." The man on the screen was not composed. He wasn't even in a news station. Instead, it looked like he was inside of a tent, being rained on. His face was glared by a spotter's light, meant to make him more visible but instead adding to his apparent misery.

Jack wondered how long civilization was going to hold up under this kind of stress. It was slowly breaking apart, drifting away from what it once was. But some of the little things were still there. Electricity was still running, for the most part, and water was still flowing through the taps. This, however, was probably not going to last long. He entertained some thoughts about how they were going to survive before the newscaster began speaking once more.

"The Canadian government seems to be posting military personnel on the other side of the blockade and the last evacuees left over two hours ago." The camera swiveled to a view outside of the tent, where, in the distance, figures could be seen standing ominously in the morning light. "So far, the few that have attempted to cross the border have been turned away and we are not recommending that anyone try." The view zoomed closer to a few soldiers who were crouching low to the ground, seemingly tinkering with something. A few other groups were doing the same.

"So far, we haven't been able to get a direct comment from the Canadian government, but we have gotten scattered reports of conflict between Canada's armed forces and our own military." Jack whistled, not expecting something like that to happen. Then again, he had never really expected the dead to rise.

Not wanting to believe what was happening on the TV, he would sit there for another half hour trying to weed out facts from exaggerations until he heard the frantic sound of a fist pounding against the front door.

* * *

"Stop hitting it!" Dave screamed in frustration. For the last half hour, Clemens had done nothing but moan and pound and Dave was getting sick of it. He just wanted five more minutes of sleep.

Another few moments of steady knocking came and went until he finally came to accept that he wasn't going to get anymore sleep. He threw himself off of the bed and stomped over to the dead man.

"What?" He asked, almost getting into Clemens' face. "What is _so_ important that you have to keep knocking on the door?" He wasn't expecting an answer. In response, Clemens shrunk back a little and took an awkward step away from him. Dave watched the reaction and, while opening the door to leave, tried to make sense of it. He couldn't really think so early in the morning though, and he continued through the derelict home, keeping his eyes out for anything he deemed useful.

As he passed by another bedroom, he stopped in his tracks. In the doorway, a wooden baseball bat leaned against the frame. Dave smiled to himself, wondering how he could have missed it before, and picked it up. Twisting it around in his hands, he remembered using one of these in his little league games when he had been a youngster. The smooth wood felt cool in his hands and he briefly wondered what it was doing there all alone. He took it with him as he made his way into the kitchen.

Now awake, he dug his way through cabinets until he found cereal boxes. Finding a brand that he liked, he ripped the top off and used his hands to shovel the sweet food into his mouth. It didn't taste as good as he remembered, but he continued anyway. As he was quieting his rumbling stomach, he heard shuffling from behind him. He turned to look and saw Clemens making his way through the room. The dead man looked in his direction once and then continued on, exiting the room towards the front door of the home. Dave wondered what went on in their heads sometimes. Was he exploring or something?

He continued eating while searching through the rest of the home. Like he had done before, he found a few trash bags and filled them with anything he could find. There wasn't much food in the house, but he grabbed what he could and hoped he could hang onto it longer than the other times. When he was finished, he searched through everything again just to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Finally satisfied, Dave walked to the front door, his trash bags in tow. There, he found Clemens banging on that door, apparently trying to get out. Dave set his bags down along with the bat and walked next to him.

"Look, you moron." He ignored the sharp stench and tapped the zombie on the shoulder to get his attention. Clemens turned his head to look at him, and Dave pointed at the brass doorknob connected to the front door. "You use this to open the doors." The zombie stared at the knob for the longest time. After a minute, Dave just rolled his eyes and grabbed the knob himself. He pulled it open and made sure Clemens wasn't in the way before stepping back to grab his bags and bat. He passed by the dead man and emerged outside to another growing crowd of undead.

"Where are you all coming from?" He yelled his question, half angry that they always seemed to find him. He stood for another moment, biting his lip while looking over the groaning mass. They were bloody, ugly, and smelled horrible, but he was glad they weren't about to kill him.

He stepped down off the porch and pushed off the dead hands trying to reach him. Making his way to the car, he looked behind him to see Clemens also clearing a path for himself, although not as easily as him. When he finally got a handle on the driver's door, he calmly pushed a few zombies aside so he could open it. Once he was inside, he threw the bags and bat into the backseat and closed the door. Before he could grab his keys though, he heard the backdoors open and he turned to see zombies piling into the back of his car.

"Now what the hell do you think you all are doing?" The zombies ignored him and continued to clumsily stuff themselves into his car. Dave shook his head in frustration and started the car. Beside him, Clemens opened the car door all by himself after a few seconds of fumbling. He got in the passenger side seat and stared at him. Dave waited for him to try and close the passenger door, but it seemed as though Clemens had no manners. He reached over the zombie and closed the door himself.

Now assured that he was ready, Dave reached around to grab his seatbelt. He clicked it into place and slowly started backing out of the driveway. The zombies were still trying to stuff themselves into the car though, and it made for a harder drive. Still, he didn't want to stall, so he pulled out anyway and tried to ignore the few bumps he experienced as he turned out into the street. As he began driving away, he felt the zombies pounding against his car. As much as he would love to just stuff all of them into his little car, he couldn't, so he continued on.

Once he was clear of the horde, the few zombies that had actually managed to find a foothold in the back of his car made themselves comfortable. Some of them had fallen out as he was driving and, since none of them knew how to ride in the car right, the doors were still hanging open. Dave pulled over to the side of the suburban road and got out to close them. He decided to let them come along after all. He didn't know what he would use them for, but maybe they could come in handy somehow.

Getting back inside the car, he turned on a random street. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he just needed something to orient him. He continued to drive through the suburban areas. Once and awhile, he would see a zombie wandering the streets or pounding on a door, but it seemed as though they weren't in the area. Dave wondered if they were all concentrated in the more densely packed parts of the city. If that was true, then this area would continue to be fairly clear until they found a reason to migrate from the city.

Dave turned another corner and spotted a few wrecked cars in the middle of the street. The streets had been relatively clear, which had been strange considering he had seen how bad it could get. He slowed down as he passed by them and looked for anything useful. He might as well salvage whatever he could find.

As he pulled to the side of the road again, he looked to the zombies huddled in his car. They had managed to stuff about four of them, not including Clemens, in his back seat.

"Stay inside." He ordered, confident they would just get out of the car anyway. He turned the car off and got out, the sound of the closing car door echoing in the empty streets. Across the street from him, a local grocery store stood with its lights still on. After he was finished with the cars, Dave decided that he was going to look in the store. But if the evacuation had ended like the one in his area, there wouldn't be much left.

Immediately, he could tell that the outcome of this crash had not been good. The driver was still in the seat. Thankfully for him though, he was just dead. Not _undead_, just lying still forever dead. Dave never found himself to be a religious person, but he uttered a silent parting to the man in the seat and decided that he would check the other car first.

The way the cars had collided, they both sat directly in the middle of the intersection. It had been a head-on crash. Apparently, this hadn't stopped the other driver from getting out of his car; there wasn't a trace of him to be found, save for a few blood stains. Dave pushed the driver side door open and climbed into the seat. The airbag had deployed, which was good, but Dave was sure it hadn't saved the driver from serious injury. He flipped through the overhead mirror in search of something he could use. He found a few pictures of a pretty girl, an unpaid parking ticket, but nothing else. Leaning over the passenger seat, he pulled the glove box open and watched as a mess of papers escaped onto the floor. He picked through them and found a few melted candy bars, a set of keys to something he didn't need, more unpaid tickets, and receipts to fast food joints.

Not surprised that he hadn't found anything, Dave felt underneath the dashboard for the button to pop the trunk. He felt a satisfying _clunk_ as it opened and he got back out to walk around the rear of the car. He lifted the lid and found a few suitcases. One was locked with a combination so he tried the other. It was filled with clothes and a few personal effects; nothing he could use. Sighing, he closed the trunk and walked back to the car with the dead man. There, he walked to the passenger side and opened the door. He rifled through the glove compartment and found it almost to be in the same condition as the first car. He gave up searching altogether.

Dave felt bad for having to try and salvage what he could from the dead. It wasn't something he could get used to. Sure, raiding homes was easy when no one was home, but having to search for things in the presence of their former owners filled him with guilt. Once again, it twisted his thoughts, making him theorize what brought this infection upon them. He briefly wondered if the government had anything to do with it, then dismissed the idea because he realized how crazy it sounded.

With nothing found in the cars, he set his sights on the grocery store. Dave crossed the deserted street and made his way through the automatic doors. Isles and isles of cleared shelves greeted his eyes, and his frustrated growl echoed in response. He knew it would be like this.

As he walked through the isles, he stepped over trash and debris that lay on the floor where people apparently had scrambled to get what they could and run. Carts sat overturned in the entrances of isles and in other places. From what he could see though, no one had been killed here. No blood pooled on the floor and no bodies wandered around, searching for their next meal. It made Dave glad that he had left the two cars behind.

"Hello?" He said to the empty air. His voice pierced the air in an otherwise silent store and it sent an odd shiver down his back. Usually these places bustled with life. Now, it was barren and deserted. He compared it to his own store, where only a few weeks before, he had worked and shopped at. As he walked, his feet made a hard clapping sound as they made contact with the hard floor. It sounded loud to him and made him wonder if anyone else was in here.

He continued walked through the isles and found that not everything had been taken in the initial surge of panic. He could always use more supplies, so he walked back to the front door. Making his way back to the car where the undead still waited for him, he was surprised at their patience; they were still waiting inside the car.

He ignored them for the moment and got back in the driver's seat. Turning the key, he felt the engine start and he pushed the gas pedal down. The undead in the back surged slightly when they saw that he was back. They groaned their approval and became more active, squirming in their seats. It made Dave nervous, their behavior. He quickly moved the car to the front doors of the store and got back out. He moved to the back and opened the doors, allowing the zombies there to get out. He couldn't get his bags while they sat there.

"Get out zombies." He ordered, pointing away from the car. They gave him a strange look but stayed where they were. "I said get out." He said, this time louder. A tingling started in his head. This feeling scared him. He didn't know where it came from and he rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, the zombies had begun clamoring for the door. Dave took a step back and opened it for them. Stiffly, they began climbing out. He stared at them as they almost lined up for him. He bit his lip, unsure as to what he should do. After a moment of silence, they began a soft moaning and Dave saw several of them begin drifting away.

"Where-" He cut himself short and decided that is was probably better to just keep moving. He leaned inside the car and grabbed his bags. While he was doing so however, he saw that Clemens hadn't moved from his spot in the passenger seat.

"What the hell are you, some kind of rebel?" He said to the zombie. "Get out of the car like everyone else." Clemens didn't necessarily _have_ to get out of the car, but when all of the others had, it left him unnerved to see that he was acting differently. Like the others, Clemens began the process of leaving the car. He was faster than the others in the sense that he apparently knew how the door worked, but he still struggled. The zombie got out and stood next to him patiently. The dead man could get out of a car by himself, but he couldn't figure out to open a regular door.

With his car empty, he shut the doors that the others hadn't closed themselves and moved around the car so he could re-enter the store. The others followed behind him now that he was doing something different. He heard them gurgling and moaning behind him as he began his task of grabbing cans and bottles off the shelves. He managed to fill up one bag with non-perishables and hoped once more in his mind that these bags wouldn't end up like the other ones he had tried to gather.

As he made his way into the meat department, he was hit by the stench of rotting meat. He should have known better then to try here. Even though power was still on in the store, no employees were here to store the meat products. In truth though, it had a similar smell to the zombies following him around so it didn't bother him as much as it could have.

He continued through the store and eventually made his way back to the front. With one bag completely full and tied off, he sat all three of them next to a bench, and then sat down himself for a rest. The five zombies stood idly around him, swaying in the invisible breeze and groaning softly. Dave turned to look outside so he didn't have to stare at them. He examined the neighborhood he was in and tried to imagine it before this outbreak. Homes sat still and dark, no movement from windows or alleyways. He tried to picture families going about their daily business, but in the end he could only see the vacant shells they had become.

Just as he was beginning to relax, a jeep came rolling down the street. It surprised Dave, as he believed that everyone had evacuated from this place. Not everyone could evacuate though, so maybe these were survivors! Dave jumped from his place on the bench, sending the zombies around him back. This was his chance to get back with other people, maybe even to find out who took his friends. But that thought made him stop. What if these men weren't out for his best interests? What if these _were_ those men? As their jeep slowed to a stop next to his car, Dave saw the camouflaged men get out heavily armed. Instead of walking out like his original plan, Dave ushered the zombies away from the front and grabbed his things. They were bound to try the grocery store.

"Go you stupid zombies." He whispered harshly, forcing them through the store. He thanked whoever was watching out for him that the store front wasn't made of glass windows like his had. As long as he kept from the entrances, they couldn't see them. As he was coming up with an escape plan, he realized that this store probably had a back storeroom to it like his. He pushed the dead through the isles until he came across a pair of swinging doors with a sign that read "authorized personnel only". He forced the dead in and stopped to look through the small plastic windows on the door. He had a broad view of the store from here, but he didn't want to stay too long. The plan so far was to just see if those men were going to enter the store or not. A minute later, he got too jittery and decided that it was better to just leave.

As he made his way through the back of the grocery store, he realized that he didn't _have_ to bring the zombies with him. In fact, he wondered why he had done so in the first place. Either way, he was going to leave this store with or without them. He didn't want to stick around with those men outside.

From behind him, he heard a gunshot. The loud sound made him jump and the zombies he was leading started turning around to investigate the sound. He grabbed two of them by their shirt collars and pulled them back.

"No, don't go you idiots." He forced them back with him. "Don't leave." The tingling feeling came back to him and he almost stumbled because of it. He recovered though, and watched as the zombies turned away from where the gunshot came from so they could stand in front of him. He took a breath and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. "So now you decided to come along?" They either ignored him or chose not to respond, and Dave imagined that they had some sort of bizarre humor.

As he hit the back of the store, Dave found a door marked with a red glowing exit sign. He glanced behind him to make sure the zombies were still following him and slowly pushed the door open. He would rather have them with him then put those men on alert.

As he pushed the door open, he found that the light blinded him for a moment. He quickly got used to it and looked around. He was facing the large open space that the trucks used to dock to the store and unload their products. To his left lay the street leading to the intersection he had parked his car at, and to his right was another short road leading into another adjacent street. Beyond those were suburban homes and fenced yards.

Dave stepped through the door and into the open air. He quietly hoped that the men hadn't decided to check the back yet and waited until the zombies had shuffled through before closing the door again. It made a noise that was too loud for his liking, but he decided that it probably hadn't been loud enough to alert those men. He was out of the store, but what is he supposed to do now? They were at his car. There was no way he could stuff all of his zombies into the car and get away without them seeing him. Dave reconsidered the possibility that they were friendly, but they looked way too heavily armed. Maybe they were with the military? Those men who tried to kidnap him and his friends also seemed to be military.

He hugged the stone wall of the grocery and made his way to the right. When he reached the end, he poked his head out and didn't see anything but the street ahead. Behind him, the zombies came shambling loudly, groaning and gurgling. Dave turned his head to look at the lot and wondered if there was a way he could just leave them here. He couldn't afford them giving his position away to anyone who may be listening. Those men were probably suspicious about his car, but he wondered if they actually thought someone had gone in the grocery or not. Still, he wasn't about to take a chance.

Shifting from his position, Dave slowly made his way around the side of the building. His undead companions continued to follow him. When he arrived at the next corner, he slowly poked his head out. He saw someone standing at the entrance of the door, camouflaged and holding some sort of rifle. Dave retreated behind the wall once more and hushed the zombies around him. Clemens seemed to get it fairly quickly, he wasn't making a sound, but the others continued to bump into each other and groan. He would never be able to make it to his car without drawing undue attention. Dave wondered if he would have to make his presence known.

Taking a deep breath, he weighed the consequences. He could step out, be confused with a zombie and be shot, or he could be saved. Either that or these men could be dangerous and just kill him anyway. He thought about it for another moment before pushing the zombies around him away. He couldn't have them endangering his chances.

"Sorry guys, it was fun while it lasted." If it was him or the zombies, he would gladly choose himself. He left the bags behind, but took the bat. Stepping out, he hoped he was making the best decision.

"Hey, over here!" He waved to get the guards attention, but made sure he wasn't swinging the bat in a threatening manner. The guard swung to meet him and readied his rifle, obviously worried about being attacked. When he saw that Dave was alive, not a zombie, he still raised his weapon at him, but his free hand shot to a radio attached to his side.

"I think I found him." Dave overheard him say. A bead of sweat ran down his neck despite his attempts at appearing calm. The guard stayed where he was, but yelled at Dave to stop walking towards him.

"I'm not infected!" Dave explained, placing his bat on the ground slowly. "I haven't been bitten." Dave raised his hands above his head and stood still. Before he could make another move though, four others came jogging out of the front of the store. They also carried rifles and wore camouflage. Following the other guard's move, they readied their weapon at him, but didn't shoot. One slowly stepped forward, and Dave tagged him as their leader.

"Is there anyone else with you? Do you have any weapons?" Dave shook his head in response and replied negatively. He guessed they were trying to decide whether he was lying or not.

"Go see where he came from." One ordered, taking his sights off of Dave and to two other men. The men he ordered forward slowly made their way around him, giving him a wide berth, and made their way past him. They were headed right for the zombies.

"Wait!" Dave yelled, turning to the men. "You can't go there!" He didn't want them to see the zombies, or to be hurt. The two men stopped advancing and turned to him.

"Shut up and get on the ground!" The leader yelled, taking three big strides towards him. He shoved him against the wall of the grocery and Dave felt a barrel pushed against his back. "Grab anyone over there, don't let them run." This move crossed the line for him. These men weren't out for his safety. He struggled with the man holding him from behind but the rest of them quickly subdued Dave against the wall.

With attention focused on him though, no one noticed Clemens and the others turning the corner, attracted by the yelling. The others simply couldn't respond quickly enough as the zombies caught sight of them and sprinted the short distance.

One of the men managed to turn around and fire a burst from his machine gun before Clemens himself grabbed him by the shoulders and sunk his teeth into his neck. At this point, the only thing these men were worried about was putting distance between themselves and the undead. Dave felt the barrel of the gun removed from his back and he turned around. The man who had acted so tough only moments before was screaming for his men to run. Dave however, wasn't about to let that happen. He reached out with both hands and gripped the man by his shirt, holding him back.

"What are you doing?" He screamed, trying to rip himself from Dave's grip. It didn't work, two zombies tackled him from the side and he fell hard onto the pavement. Dave ignored his short cry for help and watched as the remaining two members of the undead raced for the three who had managed to get away.

"Not so tough are you now?" Dave screamed, angry that they had tried to take advantage of him. The three survivors tried to hop in their jeep for a quick getaway. Their jeep, however, didn't provide good cover. The driver stomped on the gas pedal, but another man was pulled out before they screeched down the street, eventually disappearing around a corner. Dave, in his adrenaline rush, almost considered chasing them in his own car. But when he looked over the bloody corpses of those being eaten, he decided against it.

Acting quickly, Dave gathered the fallen weapons and their ammunition. Someone may have heard the shots and he didn't want anyone else coming after him. He had to push the zombies off of the bodies, but he managed to grab magazines out of their pouches and even a travel map off the leader. After he was finished, he slung the weapons over his shoulder, shrugging off the uncomfortable weight, and grabbed his trash bags and bat from around the corner. He made his way over to his car and struggled to reach the trunk release button. When he finally had it open, he dumped it all in the back, save for the rifle and a few magazines which he would keep with him.

As he slammed the trunk down, he looked over at the feeding zombies. They were tearing away bits and pieces and stuffing them into their mouths hungrily, coating themselves with fresh blood in the process. Dave grimaced, but knew that it was their nature. He still hated them for it, but was also thankful. Without them, he might have been killed. He gave himself another few moments of thinking, his hands on the door, waiting to open it and start the car. He didn't want them around him, but they could still be useful.

Biting his lip, he made the decision. They were coming with him.

* * *

"What do you mean 'they just left'?" Jack yelled in frustration. No one was supposed to leave without permission. He couldn't risk someone finding out about this place before it was fully prepared. Benjamin struggled juggling his rifle and keeping with Jack as he made powerful strides across the parade ground.

"They took a car and guns and left." Benjamin could tell Jack was angry. Hell, anyone could tell he was angry at this point. He was surprised steam wasn't pouring out of Jack's head.

"Tell no one about this." He hissed as they arrived at the front gate where two men were standing, watching the tree line for movement. Since the entire compound was protected only by a flimsy fence, Jack couldn't risk anything getting through. One breach could compromise everyone.

"What do you want me to do if they come back?" Jack ignored him and spoke to the two other men.

"If you two see anything suspicious, anything at all, come get me." He looked them over, as if judging their loyalty to him, and then continued. "If anyone comes to the gate, and I mean _anyone_, do not let them in." And as if to add a little extra incentive on his side of the argument and make sure they did what he wanted them to do, he added "they could be infected." The two men nodded in the face of his orders and confirmed that they would do the best they could. Jack counted his, rather limited, blessings that he had men who were so loyal to him.

"I'll do the same if I see them Jack." Benjamin added as they began walking away. Jack glanced over and acknowledged him.

"Do you know why they left?" They headed back across the grounds towards the armory where he had been earlier.

"I spoke to a few of the men and they said something about a raid in town." Jack stopped in his tracks.

"A _raid_?" He looked Benjamin in the eyes. "Are you telling me these guys left to see what they could pull from the _city_?" Benjamin swallowed, then answered.

"Yeah."

"Those fucking idiots!" He threw his hands up in frustration and continued his walk towards the armory. "They could lead an army of those things right back to us!" Benjamin hadn't thought about the complications, but Jack was right. They would come back to the camp if they ran into trouble because they had nowhere else to go. If they came back bitten and no one noticed... he shivered from the possibilities. They could turn the entire camp.

"Should we just shoot them?" Jack took it into consideration, but if they did anything serious, he would want to do more then just kill them.

"No," Jack said as they reached the armory door, "just bring them to me." He gave Benjamin a look to let him know that he expected him to fully follow his orders, then stepped inside and closed the door. When Ben heard the heavy lock clatter into place, he sighed and walked back to the front gate. He was glad he hadn't agreed to go with those men. When they got back, if they got back at all, they would have to face Jack.

When he reached the front gate again, he nodded to the two men still standing there and climbed one of the adjacent towers. It was empty, which suited Benjamin just fine. He could concentrate better alone. Looking behind him, he saw a foldout chair leaning against the wall. He grabbed it, unfolded it, and sat down. Now he just had to wait.

* * *

Natalie, in her young life, had thought she had seen a lot in her time. Her parents hadn't been the kindest towards her, and she had her own experiments in various illicit drugs. Her boyfriend had even occasionally hit her when he was angry. But none of that could have prepared her for this camp.

They had forced them into their own cars at gunpoint and even killed some of them along the way. She thought they looked like soldiers, but they acted like no soldiers she had ever seen or spoken to. When they arrived, they had been forced back out and into a building of their own, the one they were currently waiting in now. She didn't know what was going to happen to them, no one did, but it didn't stop them from guessing. Death seemed a major possibility; it was what most people predicted. But Natalie had that feeling that death wasn't the only reason they were all kidnapped, and that feeling was reinforced by the fact that several people were removed from the group when they had been shoved into this building.

But now she could only wait. She could only sit on one of the many beds and stare out a window to the surrounding area. And even that couldn't occupy her, not with everyone else crying, or making some other noise. It was beginning to make her panic, and it was worsening every second she stayed there. She could only hope that little sliver of hope that Dave was out there somewhere, looking for her.

She looked out to the armed men walking around, and hoped Dave would bring an army.

* * *

"I don't think he is going to survive the night." Michael's stomach felt heavy and he was light headed. The nurse standing in front of him, but out of earshot of James, put a hand on his shoulder and reassured him that they had done all they could. She then walked away to another room of the barn. Michael cursed her for her insensitivity, but knew that it was hopeless.

In the wreck, James had suffered a compound fracture in his right arm, and those who had inspected him on a professional level suspected him of having internal bleeding. Of course, without proper medical equipment, nothing was for sure, except that he was not doing well. Michael, even though he had tried to hold out hope that he would live, had his own doubts. James hadn't been able to keep down any food they had tried to give him, and he was in constant pain. No one had any painkillers, so James was suffering in a way none of them had experienced before. The only comfort given to him was a soft bed of hay they had fashioned up for him in the barn they were using as a temporary resting place.

For a moment, Michael leaned his head against the wooden wall and let himself cry. Nothing was going the right way. They had been on the road to freedom, now he didn't even know where his own mother and pregnant wife were. Just the thought of Karen sent him into a fit of anger. He didn't know where she was, she was with _his_ child, and he could lose her forever.

Michael pushed away from the wall and swung his fist against it, almost ignoring the terrible stinging he felt. He caressed his hurting hand and immediately wished he hadn't reacted like he had. But his family was being torn apart, was already torn apart. Who could blame him? Michael then thought of the countless other families who had also suffered like his had. Many others probably had it worse, but that still didn't help him feel any better.

He walked to the entrance of the barn where his brother was laying silently. Others were in the room, resting, readying up for another attempt to escape the dead. Soldiers flanked the entrances and exits, guarding all inside. But Michael cast a long and sad look at James, wishing he could help somehow. He quietly made his way over to the hay stack and got on his knees beside the broken man, laying his hand on matted hair. James had always had soft hair, the softest he could remember.

Michael knelt by his brother for another long moment before allowing his eyes to cloud with tears. The drops rolled off his cheek before he could wipe them away, and he watched them disappear in the haystack. Sighing deeply, he covered his face with his hands. If only he had kept his eyes on the road. Everyone would be ok. Paul would still be alive.

The realization finally hit him. Paul was gone, and he was never coming back. No more RISK games, no more jolly attitude, no more fat jokes. Michael's eyes clouded once more as his cries started anew. He reviewed every moment he has spent with the man. From the board games, to the visits to his house, Michael wished his friend was still alive.

But it wasn't going to happen. He knew that, and he could only hope that things went better from this point on. Casting a hazy look around to those around him, his hope grew weaker.


	9. Decisions

Decisions

Apparently, those gunshots had brought out the entire zombie population. Dave had only to follow the gunshots and go a dozen blocks over before he found the, now ruined, jeep that those men had used to escape. It had looked like a fairly dependable vehicle before, but now it was embedded in the side of a thick tree, which was ironic really, since it was the only tree standing on what seemed the entire block. Still, from Dave's detective skills, and the fact that one of them was being picked apart while sitting in the passenger seat, he knew it hadn't ended well for them. Zombies milled around the wreck, investigating the crash and eating what they could from it, which served to excite the ones sitting in the back of his car, who began pawing at the windows and groaning.

As he came to a stop next to the jeep, he could easily see that nothing was worth grabbing. The jeep itself was totaled, and any weapons that may have been in the car probably weren't fighting a dozen or so zombies off for. Besides, he already had a few in his trunk.

Pressing the gas down, Dave noticed that he was the new target of interest for the crowd outside. He didn't have time to get bogged down by a crowd of zombies, so he pushed through them. Since most were on his right, by the jeep, he easily bypassed the majority of the crowd. But a few still managed to drift in front of him. Instead of stopping though, Dave gently nudged them with his car until they got the idea and either moved for fell underneath.

Once he was out of immediate danger, he pressed the gas pedal down further and picked up speed. Those men couldn't have gone too far, and he was fairly intent on finding them. If they wanted to rough him up, Dave was alright with returning the favor.

Dave made a right turn at the next street and he spotted a few idling zombies in the road. He hoped that those men had attracted some attention before they disappeared so he could just follow a zombie right to them, but nothing in the area stood out to him. It was just abandoned suburban home after home and the only thing that changed was the amount of damage done to an area.

After circling a few blocks, he started to give up on finding them. With the sound of the car, he wouldn't exactly sneak up on them. But still, he would love to give them a piece of his mind. What kind of person would take advantage of this situation? Dave didn't care, they needed to be shown that he wasn't going to just roll over for them.

But finally, after another few minutes of searching, Dave figured that he would run into them again at some point. Where else was there to go? The infection was already here and from what he knew, it was everywhere now. It served to remind him that he needed to get into Canada before they shut down the borders or something.

To his left, Dave could still hear the sounds of gunfire coming from the direction of the city. It was still fighting, even though Dave believed it wouldn't last much longer. Even if people were still alive, Dave wasn't going to go anywhere close to the inner city. He wasn't about to risk getting shot because he could walk with the undead.

Once he confirmed that he was going no where near the city, his thoughts wandered back to his friends, both his old ones and Natalie. He still needed to get past New York, but then again, Natalie could still be in the area. Then Dave replayed the events from the motorcade and suddenly felt a little sick. They hadn't hesitated to shoot at others, what would stop them from just executing people once they got what they wanted? Dave hoped that wasn't the case and continued driving.

Still, the thought of innocent people getting hurt bugged him. He might have been able to do something, but what? He was only one man with a couple rifles. For a brief moment, Dave imagined him leading some kind of zombie army to come to the rescue. But it quickly disappeared when reality hit him. What would stop the zombies from eating the wrong people?

A few blocks later, Dave found the entrance ramp of another highway. It had been what he was unconsciously looking for the entire time, but even though he had finally found it, it seemed that everything was turned against him somehow. A sixteen wheeler sat overturned on the entrance ramp, blocking his access. Parking next to it and several abandoned cars, Dave figured that he would need a minute to think about what he was going to do anyway. He turned the ignition key and let the car's engine fade into nothing.

He leaned his head against the wheel, and his eyes didn't hesitate to close. It was comfortable, and he felt tired all of a sudden. But he wouldn't let himself sleep; he had to figure out his next move. Would he drive to Canada, possibly linking up with his friends but leave Natalie behind? That decision made him feel another round of guilt, but he desperately wanted to meet up with Michael and Paul, and even James and Rachael. It was almost like he just wanted to show them that he was still alive. But then he still felt drawn to help Natalie. He wasn't sure what he _should_ do, but he knew that the scales were tipped in the favor of his old friends. He just had a stronger bond with them.

Dave sat back up in his seat, having made the decision. Natalie was a nice girl and all while he knew her, but Dave liked to think that there wasn't a possible way to help her without putting himself in danger.

He turned the car back on, felt the engine rumble to life, and pressed the gas pedal. The entrance ramp was blocked, but nothing was stopping him from just using the exit instead. What was going to happen? Were the police going to stop him?

His tires hit the beginnings of the ramp and he pressed the pedal further. As he passed several cars that sat on the roadway, he figured that they had tried to do the same thing he was, only Dave didn't have to worry about zombies. Where they had failed, Dave could succeed effortlessly. It bothered him in a strange way.

When he reached the highway itself, Dave saw that the road was almost clear. As it turned out, not many people were heading _into_ Erie, so it left his path almost completely clear. That suited Dave perfectly fine. As his speedometer hit fifty-five, Dave only had to ease his way by a couple cars that still sat in the four lanes. He would rather be on the right side of the road out of habit, but the concrete divider that sat in the middle stopped him from crossing. Besides, the other side of the road was clogged with cars of all shapes and sizes. Add to that the numerous zombies that were drifting around them, Dave would have had a fun time navigating the road.

As he got further down, he couldn't help but press his car to go a little faster. He had the opportunity, and he hadn't sped since his days in high school. He glanced down and saw his meter reaching towards eighty and noticed the adrenaline racing through him. The zombies in his car began going crazy, banging on the windows and yelling. At one hundred, his knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Seconds later, scenery and other cars were flashing by him at one-twenty, and the car shook around him. The slightest twitch could send him veering off the road and into an obstacle.

Behind him, the loud crash of a window being shattered forced him to switch his foot to the brake. He almost lost control just out of shock, but the sound of the whipping air filled the car. The noise served to both bring him back into reality and to drown out his yelling about stupid zombies and their need to destroy everything around them.

He slowed down and eventually pulled over to the side of the highway. Looking behind him, he let out a frustrated and angry breath at their behavior. The zombies, including Clemens, were yelling and staring straight at him, as if blaming him for forcing them to break the window. He just notched this up as another excuse to hate them.

Turning around to face the wheel again, Dave tried to focus back on driving. Before he could even start though, he felt another wave of frustration run through him. They wouldn't shut up. They all just kept yelling.

"Shut up!" He cried, slamming his hands on the wheel. His frustration was matched by another feeling. Sparks swept across his vision and he felt light headed. He was really getting sick of it, this feeling. But he somehow knew that the zombies would stop their noise. Sure enough, as his sight returned to normal and the light headed feeling went away, the undead quit their annoying whining. With the silence now filling up the car, Dave whispered thanks and pressed the pedal again. This time, the zombies didn't make a sound, but only for a moment.

As his meter danced around fifty again, Dave heard them start once more. Their cries rose in volume until Dave got sick of it and yelled at them. Their shouting stopped like he expected, but started back up a couple minutes later. Once more, he shouted for them to shut up and they did as told. The cycle continued for another ten minutes as Dave and his undead passengers competed in a shouting match. Soon though, his throat began to hurt from the strain, and he let them win for the time being.

Besides, a sign on his far right had caught Dave's attention. Before it passed him by, he had read the distance to New York City. He didn't have too far to go until he reached the border of the state, and he was intent on getting to his friends.

* * *

In front of him was one very shaken and bleeding man. With the plastic zip ties binding his arms behind him, the kneeling man was only able to shake off the sweat and blood that ran down his face. But even the most simplest of actions were becoming difficult. With the bright lamp glaring his vision, it was difficult for him to make anything out, and that made it harder for him to anticipate the blows. As he blinked away another bead of sweat, Jack's fist collided with his right cheek.

"How could you even think of doing something like that?" He heard Jack yell. It echoed off the walls of the building and rang in his ears. It was true, the saying that hindsight is twenty-twenty. If he knew this would be the turnout of his actions, he wouldn't have even considered heading into town with those other guys. But it didn't matter now, they were all dead, at least he believed them to be.

"I'm sorry." He cried, his stinging cheek only adding to his misery. His head had already suffered the brunt of a pistol whipping, and it was bleeding into his face. "I didn't mean for this to happen." The answer did not suit Jack.

"But it did." The voice was in front of him, but he still couldn't see him since he had retreated behind the lamp. "Now what are you going to do?" The man thought about an answer that would sound good.

"Nothing." It was the only thing he could come up with.

"That's the best you can say?" To say Jack was pissed would be an understatement. This man, he didn't even know his name, had led those things right to their gates. He had lost two people and now they were threatening to mutiny. "Nothing" was all this guy could come up with? Not on his watch.

"I didn't mean for it to happen." The man repeated again. Jack knew he was sincere, but he also knew that this couldn't go unpunished. He would have to make an example out of him. If anyone else did the same, they could all die. Jack wasn't very fond of that idea.

"It doesn't matter. You can't get away with this." Letting him go now would only serve to make others think he was soft. If they thought that, they would take charge and boot him out of power. In front of him, the man began crying and Jack couldn't believe that he had once served in a prison.

"I'm sorry." The man sobbed, finally collapsing on the cold, hard floor. His eyes closed, and his head trauma finally caught up with him. Within seconds, the man had blacked out. Letting out a heavy breath, Jack stood next to his still form.

"It doesn't matter."

* * *

"This is what happens when you don't follow the rules." Jack yelled and made sure everyone could hear him. With the crowd gathered in the parade ground, they had no trouble seeing the kneeling man on the ground.

He had brought them all out, save for a few guards, to witness the punishment for going outside the gates without telling anyone. With a pistol at his side, Jack was about to deliver the sentence.

"This man has put you all in danger." He told them about how they had left without alerting him or anyone else. He let the crowd know that the zombies had arrived only because this man had led them back to the camp. He told them everything, but made sure to exaggerate a few details. And by the time he was done explaining, the crowd was booing the man, crying for something to be done about it. Without hesitation, Jack did what they wanted. He brought the handgun to the man's head, and pulled the trigger.

The results of the shot sent parts of the man's skull flying through the air. Blood erupted from the side of his head as the now lifeless body fell sideways into the matted down grass. The crowd that had gone silent at the shot now erupted in a cacophony of shouts. This man had left without the proper notification, had led a dangerous and senseless mission, and had put them all in danger. Now he was dead, rightfully so. They cheered and Jack soaked up every bit of the attention. It was hard for him not to smile, but it finally edged its way onto his lips. He was back in control.

* * *

Somehow, he knew that this had been a bad idea. A "raid" for supplies, namely alcohol, had gone sour, just as he believed it would. Now he was paying for his decision. His "friends" had abandoned him hours ago. They had always picked on him, but throwing him out because he would take up room for the beer was just ridiculous. Now he was stranded out in the middle of nowhere, just him and whatever zombies he happened across.

Speaking of the undead, he had lost the last straggler only a couple minutes ago, and unless he was quiet, he may stumble into it again. These things, they terrified him. Sure, he acted tough when he had been with the group, but alone and without a gun, he was powerless. The only thing he could do, and it was the only thing he had done in the last hour, was run. But he couldn't run forever. Those things, they didn't seem to get tired. He had watched them run until their joints popped out of place. He however, couldn't keep up with their pace. Even now, as he stood next to the cement barrier of an exit to the highway, he was breathing heavily, tired from his escape.

But as he planned his next move, he believed himself to be luckier than the ones in his former group. He had heard the machine gun fire, and knew that it had been them. On one hand, he was devastated that his only possible support in the area may have been destroyed, but then he was also very happy that they ran into trouble. They had thrown him out and taken his weapon, they deserved it. That's what he figured anyway.

Poking his head out from behind the concrete, he didn't see any movement. Once again, he hoped that he had lost those zombies that had chased him. They weren't too bright, but damn were they determined.

Deciding that it was safe enough, he put both hands on the concrete and vaulted over it.

He jumped right into the path of a car.

* * *

For the past minute or so, Dave had been wondering what he had done that was so wrong in his life. He had already suffered being separated from his friends, and he was right in the middle of an apocalypse, but just as his luck was turning, he ran into another roadblock, literally.

Sure, the roads were clogged before, but this was just insane. There was not a single gap on his side of the highway. He knew, he had checked for what seemed like forever. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't continue, which only served to piss him off. He wasn't leaving this car, it was the only one he could find working and he didn't want to walk. So after slamming the inside of the car for a while in frustration and blaming himself for being so lazy, Dave reluctantly turned around and started the long drive back.

And all of that had led him to this moment in time. After screwing around with the radio for a while, Dave found his exit ramp and took it. As he drove, his attention, once again, became trapped by the buttons and fuzzy squeals of the radio. He had looked up just in time to see someone jumping over on his side of the ramp.

And to say that he turned the wheel just in time to avoid hitting the person was not the entire truth. He avoided the collision by mere inches.

With his wheel twisted as far as it could go to the right, Dave collided with the wall and the airbags deployed on him. As his car scraped the side with a terrible grinding noise, the man he had almost hit still stood in the middle of the road, frozen and only able to watch as the vehicle finally came to a stop at the end of the ramp. When the shock finally wore off, he sprinted towards it and tried to see if the driver was okay.

"Are you alright?" He yelled, coming to a stop at the driver's window. The airbag finally deflated, and he saw a very shaken man staring back at him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Was the first thing to come out of his mouth. The man shrugged the rough question off and opened the door for him. He was used to being sworn at anyway.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was still alive." As he looked to the passenger's seat, it took him just a second to realize that it was a zombie. He jumped back, suddenly not so glad that he had found another survivor. Dave saw his reaction, and urged him to stay where he was.

"They won't attack, calm down." In truth, Dave wasn't so sure. They had spotted the man and began frantically trying to get out of the car. He yelled at them to sit still, but the man almost ran off while he was trying to calm them down.

"Get out of the car!" The man screamed, desperate for the driver to escape. He wavered between staying there and running off.

"Be quiet and stop moving." Dave ordered, opening his door and getting out with shaky legs. He slammed the door and watched as the zombies in the back pressed their faces up against the glass, trying to get outside. As Dave surveyed the damage, he was glad that they hadn't broken that specific window out.

Taking a second to see the amount of damage done to his car, he instantly knew that he would not be able to salvage it. The front of it had taken the brunt of the blow, but the crumple zones had done their job. Clemens, who was still sitting in the passenger seat, seemed undamaged. It seemed that the airbag could save even the undead. He was already trying to climb across the passenger seat towards Dave and the other man. Sensing the uneasiness of his new friend, Dave slammed his door shut before Clemens could make it across.

"Were you driving with those fucking things?" The man said, not believing it. His eyes were almost as large as dinner plates, and Dave would have found his expression funny under normal circumstances.

"Yeah, now can we please step away from the car so they stop going crazy over you?" He put a hand on the man's back and led him away from the wreck. He would grab everything he could from the wreck later, but he had some explaining to do.

"Look, I know it's impossible." He started, interrupting whatever the man was about to say. "But they don't attack me." He paused for a moment to let it sink in. "Now, I may not be able to read their minds, but I don't think they will act the same around you." The man agreed and looked over Dave's shoulder to the single car crash.

"Why?" It was all he could ask. Why was it that this guy could drive around with those infected and he couldn't? It was unfair.

"I don't know." Dave responded, sticking his hand out. "I'm Dave by the way." The man in front of him took his hand and shook it.

"I'm Ian." Dave examined him, noticing that he was wearing camouflage. It was very similar to the stuff those men who had attacked the motorcade were wearing.

"Now I'm going to go get the stuff from my car." He looked Ian right in the eyes. "Don't move." He waited for the man to nod, and then Dave turned around and walked the short distance back to the crash. Something about the man put him off, but he would trust him for now. He was the only living person he had encountered for a while.

When he arrived, he found that they were still trying to get out. The glass on the back window was starting to crack, but it still managed to hold them back. Still, Dave wanted to do this quickly so they wouldn't have a chance to escape.

"Back!" He ordered, feeling like he was commanding a disobedient puppy. "Get back!" At such an importune time, the light headed feeling came back to him just as he opened the back door. It was manageable this time though, and he quickly grabbed the trash bags from the back. The zombies moved away from his intruding hand as he found the bags and ripped them away from the car. He threw them behind him on the ramp and then slammed the door shut. Moving to the driver's door, he found that Clemens was still pressed up against the glass.

"I said move!" He shouted, forcing Clemens back. The zombie finally complied and allowed Dave to open the door. Once he had a hand in, Dave grabbed the rifle that had been flung around the front of the car, and then he quickly pressed the button to pop the trunk open. Once again, Dave closed the door on the zombie and headed for the back of the car.

While he was doing all of this, Ian couldn't believe the level of control this Dave guy had over those monsters. He shouted, and they shrunk back and followed his orders. As he watched Dave pull several long guns from his trunk, a plan began forming in his mind. His former friends had left him twistling in the wind before, but he was about to get payback.

When Dave finally got back to him, he was struggling to juggle both the guns and the trash bags. Ian helped him with the guns, and Dave sat the bags on the ground beside them. With Dave's hands now free, Ian handed him one of the machine guns and then grabbed one for himself. He hadn't held an actual machine gun before as he had only fired bolt action rifles. This new gun gave him a boost of courage.

"What's in the bags?" He asked Dave, wondering if it was food or something else.

"Whatever I could find that was useful." Dave dipped down into one of the bags and produced a bag of chips. "It's food mostly." He tore the bag open and stuffed a hand inside. "I think we deserve something to eat." Ian couldn't agree more, so he dived into the bag himself.

"This is so good." He managed to say while eating. He was hungry and hadn't had this brand of chips in a long time.

After their little snack, Dave simply tossed the bag on the ground. He knew no one was here to complain, and it didn't exactly change anything anyway. Houses were burning, a chip bag wouldn't make a huge impact.

"What do we do now?" Ian asked, filling in the role of a follower once more. He watched as Dave examined their surroundings and sighed.

"I don't really know now." He glanced back at his ruined car. "That was my only transportation, and I still need to get into New York."

"What are you going there for?" Ian immediately realized that it was a stupid question. Dave was obviously trying to outrun the infection.

"Well, I got separated from a few friends of mine, and I know where they are headed." Ian nodded, now glad that he had asked. "What were you doing vaulting over concrete barriers?" Ian couldn't help but laugh now that he looked back at the incident. But then he realized that this may be his chance to get back at his former group.

"I was attacked by a group of guys and I was just running from them." He saw Dave stiffen up, as if he had just been caught in a huge lie, which was what the story actually was. "What?" He said, noting the reaction.

"What did these guys look like?" Dave asked, suddenly interested. "Were they wearing camouflage, using machine guns?" He felt like these may have been the same guys that attacked his convoy.

"Yeah." Ian responded, suddenly suspicious that Dave had pointed out a few details. "Why?" Ian suddenly realized that Dave was very angry.

"Because they might have been the same guys that attacked me." Ian couldn't believe his luck. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"What happened?" He asked, digging deeper into Dave's story.

"I was travelling with a group of people and they just jumped out of the woods and tried to grab us." Ian suddenly felt a little sick to his stomach. He had been involved in that. But then he felt glad that it had happened. Here this Dave guy was, practically asking to be used for his own revenge plan.

"Go on." He urged, wanting more details.

"They shot some of us but I managed to get away from them." Ian remembered his escape and put two and two together. Dave must have been the one in the van. Ian had seen the thing dive off the side of the road himself. "I've been looking for someone who was in the group. Her name is Natalie." The name didn't ring any bells for Ian, but it didn't matter. He knew where she was being kept, if she was even still alive.

"I know where they are." He said suddenly. Dave's face lit up, surprised that his new friend would know where to find them. His objectives just changed. He may not have an obvious way into New York, but he could still save Natalie, even Rick.

"Where?" Ian already had Dave on the hook, and all he had to do was reel him in.

"They are in some kind of camp just a few miles from here. I can bring you to them if you want." He could already guess Dave's answer.

"Take me there." Ian would happily oblige.


	10. Moving Foward

Moving Foward

All Michael could do was wait and watch. These soldiers around him hadn't moved an inch since he last looked at them and it seemed like no one else had either. Everyone was just sitting around, talking, crying, or staring off into space. The shock must have set in. And in truth, he had been doing the same thing. Since he had last planted himself next to his brother, he hadn't moved. He was still trying to think about what he was going to do next.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the whiskers growing there. He hadn't shaved and didn't think he would get the chance either. His entire body felt dirty and he desperately wanted a shower, but he knew he wouldn't get one. The only shower within a reasonable distance was in a home, separated from him by a cornfield. He wasn't about to cut through that just to soak in some water.

Instead, he looked down at his brother's still form. He couldn't tell if he was asleep or unconscious but either way, he hadn't woken up yet, and that feeling continued to eat away at Michael; the feeling of hopelessness. He had to get James somewhere to be treated. Maybe he couldn't get him to a hospital, but he needed to help him somehow. He couldn't let him… He didn't even want to think of it. He shoved his feelings into the back of his head and tried to ignore them. This wasn't the time; he needed a way to get into Canada. That was still the plan. He thought of his wife.

"Can I get everyone's attention?" Michael's eyes jumped to the source of the question, thankful for the interruption. A few soldiers had gathered by the open entrance of the barn and were commanding everyone to gather close by. Soon, all who could were huddled near the open doors for whatever they had to say. Michael didn't need to move, he was practically sitting right next to them.

When they were certain that everyone could hear, one soldier in particular stepped forward to speak to them. He looked older than the others, more experienced, and Michael had a feeling that he was in charge.

"I won't beat around the bush here." He started, "We have found an evac point still operational." Michael felt his stomach flip. An evacuation center could help his brother.

"What's the catch?" Someone blurted out, cutting the soldier short. Michael saw his eyes narrow as he looked for the source of the interjection. When he couldn't find it, he continued.

"The bad news", he paused for a moment as if he didn't want to continue, "is that it's almost five miles away." The small crowd rippled with talk. Five miles? How were they going to get there without transport? They weren't walking that far. Michael didn't care about the distance.

"Do we at least know for sure that it's still safe?"

"We've been in contact with them for an hour now." He gestured to a soldier off to his left who was speaking into a throat microphone. "They are still accepting survivors."

"How are we going to get there?" The lead soldier, a lieutenant by Michael's guess, spoke again, slightly irritated by the interruptions.

"We have to walk." Another wave of hushed talk followed and the lieutenant spoke over it. "It's too dangerous to try the roads right now. Walking is our best bet." That meant a five mile trek through woods and who knew what else that could be waiting for them. The group quieted down and it allowed another question to flow through.

"What about the people who can't walk at all?"

Michael couldn't help but look down at his brother, suddenly aware of the implications, and then to the lieutenant, who was now staring straight at him. Their eyes locked for what seemed like forever in the silence. Then he spoke with finality.

"They are coming with us."

* * *

"I hope to God that something doesn't get to us here." If Michael wasn't so busy, he would have reminded the person behind him that they should hope they weren't attacked period. But he was too busy, too busy trying to keep his brother balanced on the makeshift stretcher the soldiers had rigged out for just for him. To say he was thankful was an understatement. Even he knew that his brother was a problem for their mobility. But for now he just tried to focus on keeping James from being jostled about.

"How are you holding up back there?" A man had volunteered to help Michael in carrying his brother. Michael hadn't known him but was still very grateful for him in doing so.

"I'm fine." He replied simply. Of course, he could have gone on and one about how he could be better, but he was certain that no one wanted to hear that. He just wished that his brother weighed less; Michael's arms were straining from the effort. Still, he would rather his arms hurt from carrying his brother than to be walking without him and he cast a look to the soldiers walking around him, to their grayish uniforms. There was one to his right, too busy surveying the surrounding woods to notice his wondering look. Michael hadn't understood the reasoning behind the grayish-white colors of their clothing, the ACU or something. To him, it looked like it stood out against the dark greens and browns that they usually ran into out here, but Michael guessed the army knew what it was doing. They just looked like some kind of ghostly figures from a distance to him.

From far away, a muffled pop caught their attention. So far, they hadn't run into any kind of resistance and Michael was sure that everyone wanted it to stay that way. The column formation they had fallen into allowed the lieutenant to spread his troops, all twenty or so of them, throughout the group fairly evenly and while their rifles made him feel a little safer, he'd rather not put them to the test. In fact, he wished he still had the rifle he had managed to pick up back in Waterford. It was unfortunate that he had lost it. But then again, the soldiers probably wouldn't have allowed him to use it. He had heard stories of people being disarmed when they showed up to a rescue station, but that was a totally different scenario. Michael believed the soldiers would make an exception now. Some of the people around him were still armed with their personal weapons.

His foot catching a rock he failed to see, Michael barely saved his brother from tumbling out of the stretcher. That relief that his brother was still alright didn't quell the toe he had stubbed in the process though. Cursing quietly under his breath, Michael wished he had invested in a good pair of boots before all of this had happened.

"Are you sure you're alright?" The man holding the other end of the stretcher asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." For some reason, Michael didn't think the man believed him fully.

"Can you two please stay quiet?" The soldier to his right butted in. Michael thought better of giving a smart reply and the other man apologized. The soldier had a good reason to be stressed. Michael wondered if he even knew what was going on with his own family, much less the status of the civilians he was being charged with protecting now.

"You don't have to be sorry." The soldier went on. "I just need to hear if something's up." And with the explanation, Michael saw his eyes dart toward where the lieutenant was walking. He urged them to stop walking for a moment. Everyone else in the column came to a stop simultaneously.

"What's going on?" The man holding the other end of the stretcher asked. Michael ignored him and watched up ahead as a grey ghost jogged to where the lieutenant was standing. From where Michael was, he could tell the jogger was tired, but he still stood impossibly straight as he relayed whatever information he had.

"What's happening?" The man asked again. The soldier beside them shushed him, but then explained in a whisper.

"He was on point." A shaky voice replaced the confident one he had just a few minutes ago.

"What does that mean?" Even Michael was starting to become irritated by the man.

"It means he was up front." Michael blurted out. Both the soldier and the man looked back at him, perhaps surprised that he had known. The soldier continued.

"Yeah, that's basically it." They went back to watching the lieutenant, who had gotten whatever information he had needed by then and instead waved them forward. Everyone began walking once more. But the idle chit chat that had acted as background noise had died away; leaving Michael feeling like it was too quiet. He understood the need for silence, but this was going to killhim. It gave him too many opportunities to think about his aching arms and limbs.

A while ago, Michael had lost track of time by now, their group had passed through a small town. Actually, it hadn't been a town so much as a collection of a dozen or so buildings centered around a single street light. But it was directly in the path of their destination so they had to get by it somehow. At first, they had thought of bypassing it, of avoiding it completely, but that meant traveling through thickening woods and no one wanted that.

So instead, they cut through the outskirts. The entire time, everyone had been on high alert, a kind of paranoia. Every time a shutter clunked against the empty shell of a house, it seemed like everyone jumped. No one had spoken, and it seemed like the entire place had a giant pillow smothering any sounds from the outside. It was so quiet and it seemed like it had taken days to get through the thin street that led them to a side road. But as it would turn out, the town had been deserted. Not a single soul, living or otherwise had made its presence known. If a car was sitting on the side of a road, it seemed untouched. Every house seemed perfect, frozen in time, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on everywhere else. And even though nothing happend, it had scared him and with the cornfield now off to his left, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. He cursed the county for being so adept at growing the crop. He didn't even like the vegetable in the first place.

From up ahead, Michael was brought out of his thoughts by a radio squawking to life. He didn't understand any of it however because it was immediately turned down. Michael looked over at the soldier walking beside him for any reaction, but he was looking the other way, still scanning the trees. On the inside, Michael hoped nothing was out there to even be attracted to the noise, but then he thought of his wife and mother.

From above, he thought he heard the distant roar of an airplane.


	11. The Start of a Plan

The Start of a Plan

Dave struggled to handle the bags with the rifle he carried in his hands. They had only been walking about ten minutes, he couldn't be sure of course, but he already knew in that short space of time that it was going to be hard trying to balance the food in one hand and the weapon in the other. Ian was also lugging a bag around, the heavier one since he was younger and a little stronger than Dave was, but he wasn't struggling along in the same way. Dave envied the man for his strength.

It had been an uneventful trip so far, something Dave was glad for. Since they had left the car full of zombies behind them, they hadn't come across a single member of the undead. He was glad to finally be with another live human. In his mind, he had spent way too much time with the undead, and he was perfectly okay with a talking person as a companion instead of a rotting corpse named Clemens.

Then he felt bad, Clemens had saved his life after all. If it hadn't been for him and those other zombies, Dave could be dead right now, or worse, if that was even possible anymore. They had come around that corner just in time to save him and he was thankful for that, even if he was aware they hadn't done it specifically for him. They didn't think after all, not that Dave could tell, they just wanted food.

He felt a breeze stir up the trash and around them and watched a newspaper skitter across the road in front of him. He wondered how long it would take to clean it all up now that- well, was the government even in power anymore? Nothing had been heard from them the last time he had been able to turn on the news. All they were talking about was safe houses and cures.

Why didn't they tell them about _surviving_? Sarcasm dripped from the thought. At this point, Dave was sure no such safe house existed in the state, not a chance, and he was fairly sure the only thing close to a cure was him. He wondered how many people were dead; how many were undead. He shivered but not from the breeze.

He also felt a little irritated at the lack of initiative the news people had showed them all. Actually, irritated was probably an understatement. They hadn't done anything in Dave's opinion to held impede the progress of this hell on Earth. The dead still walked, the world was still dying, and Natalie and Rick were still being held by those men. Those news casters and experts hadn't done a damned thing to help anyone.

Again, he felt another rush of anger. He just wanted things to be right again. It wasn't fair, and as much as he reasoned that getting angry wouldn't get anything done, he couldn't help but bite his lip out of intense frustration. He hadn't asked to be put in this position, so why was he the one trying to rescue his friends? Why did the world have to work like this?

From up ahead, he caught Ian throwing a glance back to see what was wrong. Apparently, Dave wasn't any good at concealing his anger. Then he realized that he had lagged behind a little, dragging his feet. He promptly picked his pace back up, making sure he was keeping with the younger man. It wasn't an easy thing, Dave was older, his joints ached from the amount of exercise he was getting recently, and he felt a little sick. He raised a hand to his neck and fingered the wound there, he guessed that wasn't helping either.

He felt another chill down his back. He wondered if it would get infected if he didn't clean it somehow, and it was still stiff. He wondered if immunity from this new virus gave him some sort of trump card when it came to sickness in general. That would be nice, never having to worry about getting sick again, but he wouldn't count on that sort of luck. As soon as he got access to some kind of cleaning supplies, he was going to make sure he cleaned up.

Then another thought raced through his mind. What if he wasn't really immune? What if the process was just delayed somehow? In that moment, he forgot what the news had said about symptoms to watch for and wondered if he had experienced any since he had been infected. Wasn't there something about feeling cold? Did they call it chills? Then he remembered, it was supposed to feel like the flu at first.

He bit his lip again, not out of anger, but out of fear. He did feel a little sick, stiff even, though that was mainly just his neck. What if the process was still going on inside of his body, just waiting for the right time to turn him into a dead man like all the others? He felt his vision cloud, tears beginning to spring from his eyes. He didn't want to go that way, he didn't want to get back up just to hunt everything that was still alive. He didn't want to be like Clemens. It was then that he decided that if he knew somehow that he was bound for that fate, he would end himself before he ever turned. He did not want to become one of them.

This was not fair, his mind turned around again, jumping from emotion to emotion. It was leaving him in an awful mess. He couldn't focus and he nearly ran into Ian, who had stopped walking to stand in the middle of the road they were traveling on.

"What are you doing?" Dave asked, finally finding a way out of his thoughts. The quiet around them echoing his voice for the rest of the block. He wondered if anyone was still alive to hear it besides them.

"Shut up for a second." He ignored the rough reply and found what Ian had stopped for. In front of them, about halfway down the block, a figure was half heartily throwing himself against the front door of one of the homes. Even from this distance, it was easy to see the person wasn't alive. It was just the way they moved. Dave could tell now.

"What do we do about it?"

"Extreme prejudice." Ian replied simply, dropping the bag and raising the rifle to his shoulder. He advanced about two steps before Dave placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"You can't just go shoot it." He said, drawing a look from Ian.

"And why can't I?"

"You'd draw the entire neighborhood to us." In truth, Dave didn't know if there were any besides this one nearby but he would rather avoid taking such a chance, especially with someone who didn't have immunity like him. If he hadn't been with Ian, something like this wouldn't have stopped him at all, he would have just kept on walking. If the zombie decided to follow, so be it, it's not like Dave was endangered by it. But if this thing caught sight of Ian, it could charge him, maybe even get close enough to kill him. Dave had just met the man, but he wasn't about to lose him.

"Look," Dave continued, "let's just go around. If you shoot this thing then every one of his friends within blocks are going to come running." Ian didn't seem to need any more coercion. He lowered the rifle.

"Well, what's the plan then?" It caught Dave off guard for a moment, he wasn't used to deciding the course of action. He threw a look around, trying to find an alternate route. They could just turn around and cross to the next block so they were out of sight. This seemed like the best idea, and Ian was thinking the same thing.

"C'mon," Ian said with a wave of his rifle, "let's head back around." He picked up the bag he had dropped and continued to lead the way. Dave followed, more closely this time. They backtracked half a block until they came to the intersection, then made a left and found themselves on the next street over. It looked just as clear as the area they had come from, so, with a block of homes in between them and the rouge zombie, they continued their walk parallel to the danger.

"How far are we from these guys anyway?" Dave asked, his voice quieter than it would have been minutes ago. He still didn't want to chance the thing hearing him, even from this distance away. The last thing he needed was an angry zombie rushing after Ian.

"It's, like," Dave could almost see the cogs turning in the younger man's head, "ten minutes more maybe." Ian took the lead again, leaving Dave to his thoughts once more.

Ten minutes. It ran through his mind. In ten minutes, he hoped he would be where Natalie and Rick was. How was he even going to get them out, along with everyone else? There were bound to be more people then just them after all, they had taken what seemed like the entire motorcade. The only ones who had escaped had been him and... He struggled to find their names. He had met so many different people, gone through so much that he couldn't remember. He didn't even remember what had happened to them and felt shame overcome him. He should remember them, he should remember what happened to them. Whether or not he could remember who those men were or their names, the image and thought of that woman who had been with them when they escaped couldn't be forced from his mind. She had died nameless, a fate she didn't deserve no matter what she had done previously.

Anger, he found that it was all he was filled with now. It rose again within him and he found that he couldn't stop it's flow. These men, the ones who had executed their capture, whoever they may be, deserved a fate worse than Dave could possible give them. Killing innocents, taking them hostage, it was unforgivable. Dave remembered a time his apartment had been broken into, feeling the same feeling rushing through him at the memory. His place had been trashed, his belongings thrown around or taken. It had cost him money but more importantly, it had hurt him inside. A bunch of hoodlums had broken into _his_ home and taken _his_ things. It wasn't right, and the injustice was indescribable. They hadn't worked for his things, so they shouldn't have them. Dave remembered what his reaction had been. He hadn't called the police at first, he had instead put his hand straight through the wall next to him, his anger masking any pain he might have felt. Then he grabbed a fistful of whatever he could find on the floor and lobbed it across the room and at another wall until he finally got his emotions in check. It had taken awhile. After that, he had sat down on the couch, put his head in his hands and cried.

The memories of that day didn't help him now, it only increased his emotional debt. He found his breathing had increased, the grip on both the black trash bag and rifle increased until his knuckles turned pale white, but tears didn't escape from him this time. He couldn't find sadness anywhere within him, not this time. He was tired of sitting by while others reaped easy rewards off of people like him. There was no police around now, be that good or bad, and he wasn't going to sit around while they took what they wanted. He still needed a way to rescue Natalie and Rick, but he was sure he would find a way. They would not triumph over him, not again. It was right against wrong. Good against Evil. And Good always won out.

He looked up to see Ian's back in front of him. The younger man wasn't paying attention to Dave, something that didn't bother him one bit. He was angry, probably not in a position to have a conversation with Ian anyway. He was boiling inside, and he found that he couldn't get rid of the anger he was still feeling. He knew this would drag on for a while. In the past, he hadn't been able to get over extreme feelings like this. It had taken him a long time to finally dig around for the phone in his ruined apartment so he could call the police to report the crime. He hadn't felt good about giving the report either, and in the end, the perpetrators were never found. That fact alone devastated him. He had been powerless to stop what happened to his apartment, to his belongings. Now, with the weight of the rifle in his hands, maybe that fact had changed.

It occurred to him then that he wouldn't have to put up with the injustice anymore, not with this rifle, not with the power he held in his hands right then. He could do something to change it, to take back what was his, to give back what had been taken from Natalie, and Rick, and all the others. This was his chance, his opportunity to correct something wrong in the world. His realization that he had done nothing worthwhile in his past life hit him like a rock. He had done nothing worth merit before, nothing worthy of commendation. He had always been adequate, just barely scraping by, even in his work. He was never employee of the month and he hadn't cared, the title hadn't been worth the work to him. He hadn't found something worth working _for_. Now, with his goal clear in mind, he knew he was putting forth his effort today, tomorrow, and the day after that until the day he died. No more slacking, no more letting the work get passed on to the next guy in line. This was his day, his job, and nothing was going to stop him.

"Are you alright, man?" He heard Ian ask. He looked up, realizing that he had been staring at the pavement while he walked, and found Ian's eyes. He stared, hard, and answered without doubt.

"I'm fine." He said, "let's keep going."

He picked his pace up, his strength renewed. He didn't feel his joints complain anymore, and his legs felt fine. In fact, the bag and rifle felt lighter, he forgot he was carrying them. He kept up fine with the younger man and soon found himself walking at a brisker pace than Ian could handle.

"Will you slow down a bit?" He heard Ian ask from behind him. Dave ignored him, too focused to really do anything. "You don't even know where you're going." Ian said again. Dave slowed down a bit, although with hesitation. He wanted to get there now, not later.

"How far are we now?" He asked Ian impatiently. The younger man scrunched his eyebrows, confused at the sudden effort Dave was showing.

"It's close, I don't know how close." Ian looked around. "I haven't come in from this way before." Dave let out a huff and tried to conceal his emotions. He knew he should calm down a little. Getting impatient wouldn't help anyone. From behind, Ian watched him closely, trying to pinpoint just what seemed to be wrong with him.

"I just want to get there." Dave said, sensing that Ian was searching for an answer to his behavior. However, the younger man knew that wasn't the only reason. Even he could tell Dave was angry, an amount of which he hadn't expect to come from him, not in the waves that it seemed to be flowing through him now.

"Well," Ian said, "I think it's right over this hill." The gently sloping road they had been following had turned up sharply, leaving them with a climb. While it might have given Ian some trouble, Dave didn't think twice about the ascent. He didn't feel tired anymore, and he promptly started walking once more.

"Will you stop going so fast?" He called after Dave's quickly moving figure. He was tired already, not used to moving so much even in his younger and more agile state. This Dave guy had proven that being older didn't necessarily stop you from doing what the younger generation could. Following in his trail, Ian hitched the bag up over his shoulder and started the long trek upwards.

When they reached the top, both of them panting from the effort despite themselves, Ian realized just how close they really were to their destination. He knew that gas station to their left, and he recognized the tree line ahead of them. They were close, so close that it made Ian suddenly nervous.

"So," Dave started once more once he had regained his composure, "where to now?" Ian felt several seconds tick by before he could respond.

"We keep following this road." He motioned to the one they were standing on currently. "As we follow this up, we're going to start coming by less and less houses and when it finally seems like we're in hickville, it'll be there." He went through the path in his mind and knew it to be true. Maybe a mile, maybe two, more and they would be practically standing in front of the place. He felt something akin to fear run through him. He wondered again as to the fate of his former friends and convicts.

"Good." Dave responded, although his voice was less sure than Ian had predicted or wanted. Another few seconds went by, and Dave finally took a step forward, giving Ian the initiative he needed to do the same. Together, they began their trek once more.

Something, however, was still bugging Ian on the inside. It wasn't anger, because he felt it directed at the man beside him and he was anything but angry right now, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact feeling. Then it hit him: jealousy. Dave was immune. He was not. Dave could walk around doing whatever the hell he felt like. Ian was denied that ability. Dave could seemingly control those things that apparently found him and his friends so tasty. Ian was just another victim. Now he felt angry, and he wanted to know why.

"Dave," he started, not letting his emotions into his voice, "how are you able to be with those things?" He wished he had worded it better, but now it was out there. His curiosity had been too much to begin with.

An answer didn't follow immediately, not like Ian expected Dave to just tell him anyway. Even Dave thought to himself, looking for an explanation, knowing that he should have expected this question and that it was in fact probably long overdue in being asked. However, he couldn't come up with a reason that he thought would satisfy Ian. Just telling him "I don't know" probably wouldn't send Ian on his way, but he couldn't seem to come up with anything better.

"I don't know." He lamely restated.

"You don't know?" To Ian, this seemed ridiculous, and he let it show.

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Ian was disbelieving. "How can you not know why these things look at me like I'm some sort of walking cheeseburger but are your best friends?" Dave was caught off guard a bit. He had a retort, something to do with a vegetarian zombie that would probably only be funny in his mind, but he let it go. It would be better not to argue.

"I just don't." Dave continued walking, trying to instead focus on just getting to where he wanted to be, not talking with Ian about his immunity.

"That seems like something you should know." Ian replied, his anger still present but controlled. "I think if I could do something like walk among those freaks I would know why everyone else is just food in their eyes."

"Look, Ian," Despite not wanting them to, Dave's own emotions began to find their way into his words, "it's just how it is. I didn't ask for special treatment." He wouldn't deny it though, he was glad he didn't have the same problems as everyone else seemed to be having in regards to becoming infected, at least not yet. "It's not like I planned it or anything."

"Whatever." That was Ian's only reply, the only thing he could think of, and he remained silent. He seemed to be brooding to Dave, and he wasn't in the mood to try and bring him out of it. All he needed Ian to do was show him where Natalie and Rick were being held. He could do the rest, he hoped.

The road before them began to slope gently up and down and around curves as the homes around them began fading behind and around trees. Soon, they no longer had to worry about whether or not a marauding zombie might at any time come crashing through the front door of a home or through the backyard. There was now enough space between housing that they would only come upon one once every half block or so, and soon, the road got narrower and narrower, forcing them to the middle of the already tight space.

They crested another hill, and Ian found himself feeling more and more the effects of how apprehensive he was becoming. They were practically on top of where Jack had hidden the inmates and himself. Just another turn, and that gas station would be sitting right in front of them. Then, it would be a simple decision of taking a right and following that short but well-paved road to the gate of the compound. Ian silently wondered if they could see all the way to the intersection and wouldn't doubt that they probably could.

Just a short walk later, as if Ian had predicted the future, the trees melted away slightly, and the area opened up. To their front, a gas station sat seemingly abandoned, just as Ian has remembered it. There were a few homes nearby, but they had already been cleared by Jack's inmates before they had even discovered the abandoned base. They wouldn't have to worry about whatever may be hiding within them.

Ian stopped walking. Dave followed suit.

"Is this is?" Dave asked, his voice seemingly in a whisper so as not to somehow attract attention from some unknown enemy. Ian took a breath, swallowed, and then answered.

"Yes, the road on the right leads to them" They both looked to the mediated road only twenty or so feet from their current position. It was flanked by a guard house, the two arms that were there to stop vehicles were raised, allowing free access to whomever wanted inside. No one was in sight, but it unnerved them both anyway. If they were to walk out on that road or even onto the intersection, Ian knew they would be spotted by the men Jack had posted up in the towers and he wasn't about to let that happen.

Ian motioned for Dave to follow him into the trees and off of the road. Neither of them said a word, it was apparent to both of them what the plan was at this point. Dave followed closely behind, freeing the bag he was carrying from a low hanging branch that had snagged it. Soon, the only sound was from the crunching leaves underfoot. Somehow, they had both agreed without using words that silence was the best policy.

The way they were walking allowed them to keep the road in their sights. It wasn't a long trip to get where they were going, but if anyone decided to use it between now and when they arrived, they would know, and could duck into cover before getting spotted. It was the only choice they could make, it being better than just walking out onto the road and allowing those inside the camp to see them within ten steps. There was a tree line on their side and it allowed them to remain unseen, but on the other side of the road, the area was cleared of any foliage, making it seem bare in comparison.

It wasn't even a full minute until they found themselves stopped once more. Through the trees, they could already see the beginnings of the gate that surrounded the place, and even worse, they could easily see the guard tower looming over top. However, luck seemed to edge in their favor, whoever was supposed to be up watching over the place was not in his position and the tower stood empty, allowing them an easier time getting to where they wanted to be.

"There should be a hill we can get a good look on somewhere around here." Ian guided Dave in a path parallel to the fences. It took just a few minutes to discover what Ian had been talking about. The ground began rising steadily, and soon they were trudging up a steep incline. Dave, his anger stemmed now more than it had been earlier, could feel the burning in his legs again. Ignoring it, he didn't let himself fall too far behind Ian on the way up.

"Look," Dave said, tapping Ian on the shoulder to get his attention, "we can set up right here." They had reached the top and as far as they could tell, they hadn't been spotted. It looked like they had circled the complex, and they were now looking over a bare stretch of ground that led from their hill all the way up to the fences. From here, they could easily see the inner workings of the camp, which was only maybe five hundred feet down from where they were laying, their rifles propped up on a fallen log. The road they had followed in was also visible from this vantage point.

For a few minutes, they simply watched the people inside go to and fro. Some stood by the fences and others made their way to different parts for who knows what for. Dave watched intently, almost as if he expected Natalie to just wave her position to him. Finally, he spoke.

"Is there anyway you might know where they are holding my people?" He didn't look at Ian, he kept his eyes on the camp, watching.

"Do you see the buildings arranged in a kind of half circle?" Ian asked, trying to point out just what he was talking about. Dave looked to the line of barracks.

"Yeah, I do."

"In one of those buildings is where I think they threw your guys in." He wished he could have given Dave a more detailed answer, but it was all he truly knew. Jack hadn't exactly drawn them all together and told them where he was throwing those people in, he just did it. Ian just happened to be preparing for that ill-fated supply trip his "friends" had thrown together.

"Do you know which one specifically?" Ian nodded an answer in the negative.

"If I did, then I would tell you." He heard Dave sigh and knew what he must be feeling. At a few points in his own life, Ian had felt particularly helpless to stop something bad from happening. He empathized, but reminded himself that he had led Dave here for one reason, and that was to destroy those idiots who had abandoned him. He smirked, sure of himself and the loose plan he had.

"How did you end up like this?" Dave asked. Ian was taken back for a moment, the question was unexpected and out of place. How did he get here? He had been thrown out of the jeep those very men below them had used to steal with.

"I was in a convenience store when this all happened." He lied. Actually, it was a sort of half truth. He had _robbed_ a convenience store and that was how he ended up in jail, but in a way, that also landed him in this very position. So, in a way, he was really telling the truth. Did Dave have to know all of the details?

"Around here?" Dave probed.

"Yeah." They stayed quiet for another minutes, neither of them continuing the conversation. Ian wondered what had prompted Dave to ask something like that at a time like this. He guessed Dave was just looking for someone to talk to. After all, he had been hanging with the zombies as far as Ian could tell, and they weren't exactly great conversation holders.

"I tried to leave my town with my friends when this caught up." Dave finally said. Ian glanced in his direction and wondered why he was choosing this moment to talk about this. It did, however, give Ian a little insight to how Dave might have acquired such a power of the undead.

"I'm guessing it didn't go too well." Ian wished he hadn't said that, hoping it didn't strike a nerve with the man. Dave, in his mind, was not someone to get angry. In Ian's mind, Dave seemed to be some sort of anti-hero, a man with the power over the zombies that were tearing people apart. If he upset the man, Ian believe he could very well come to a very violent end because of it.

"It went well enough at first." Dave went on, seemingly unaffected by the remark. "We made it out, hell, we were all safe too." Ian watched something flicker across his face. "Then, my friend's mother told everyone I was infected, and they kicked me out of my own car." Ian felt a empathetic twinge of emotion inside, but also a sense of uneasiness at finding that Dave was infected. Then he felt laughter.

"Well, they sure made the wrong choice didn't they?" He joked, poking fun at Dave's immunity. Humor was the only way Ian had survived tough situations, and he felt obligated to share a little bit with the man beside him.

"Yeah." Dave produced a half smile. Under any other circumstance, a joke like that might have seemed funny to him, but they were talking about his long time friends, not some bunch of strangers he had barely met. He could see where the man meant good, but Dave wasn't in the mood to laugh. He continued to stare into the camp below.

After that short exchange, neither of them spoke again for a few minutes, either because of the awkwardness of the attempted joke, or because the seriousness of their situation finally dawned on them both. They were, after all, sitting close to a camp full of murderers and, in Dave's eyes, there wasn't a single shred of humor in that.

"So what's the plan." Ian finally began again, trying to break the silence. In truth, he had hoped that Dave would just assault the complex with an army of the dead, he had seen the man control them after all. Then, as he heard how dedicated he really was in getting his friends out, he knew Dave was thinking nothing of the sort.

"I don't really-" Dave stopped himself. Ian, confused, followed Dave's eyes until he was looking to what was wrong. From the camp, four men in fatigues had left an exit in the rear gate and were heading right in their direction. Between two of them was what looked like a body.

They were silent, neither of them speaking as they watched the procession get closer and closer. Ian wondered whether or not they would have to fire, but Dave sat unflinching beside him. They made it only a few more feet, to the edge of the trees and at the bottom of their hill, before they stopped. They were talking between themselves, and from only a stone's throw away, Dave and Ian could almost pick out the specific faces of the men.

After a minute, the two carrying the body slowly edged their way into the tree line. They took only a few steps, and then they began to swing the body between them. Dave and Ian could hear them count it off.

"One..."

"Two..."

The one holding the feet dropped his end of the load, half of the body falling with a _thump_ onto the ground.

"Now what the fuck you do that for?" Dave heard the one holding the arms ask, angry that the other man had failed to pull his own weight.

"It slipped." The other man said. "I'm sorry." He picked up the legs again and they restarted.

"One..."

"Two..."

"Three!" They both let the body go at the peak of it's swing and it tumbled into the trees, eventually settling next to the thick trunk of a tree.

"Let's head back." Another said. "I aint stickin' around while that thing rots." The four men made their way back to the camp and once again disappeared into the mass inside.

"Was that what I thought it was?" Ian asked when they had left. Dave, without answering, got up from his position and began making his way down to where the body had fallen. Ian was about to protest, but he got the feeling nothing he could say would turn Dave back. They both half walked half slid their way down the slope until they reached where they were headed. There, he found Dave kneeling over the body, making sure to stay out of sight of the camp. Ian did the same, wondering just what this was about.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, incredulous that he would even risk giving them both away. Then he saw the body.

It was one of the men who had thrown him out of the jeep, and he felt a very cold chill run through his spine. The reason for death was obvious, a lot of the upper half was covered in blood. Even through this, Ian could tell the identity of the dead man, and knew he wasn't about to come back from the dead.

"I just wanted to know who it was." Ian knew Dave was concerned he would find one of his own to be thrown out here, but he probably never would have guessed it would be an acquaintance of Ian's instead. In fact, Ian was so shocked by this find that he couldn't even respond to Dave. He just sat there, contemplating the implications of this but already knowing at the same time. Even if he had wanted to go back, which, in a place far in the back of his mind, he really did, he knew now that there was no way now. This had to be Jack's doing, and Ian knew he would face the same fate he he returned now. He turned around and made his way back up the hill. Dave, now satisfied that it wasn't anyone he knew, abandoned the body and followed behind.

They reached the top once more, their rifles and bags in the same position they had left them, and they retook their spots again. This time, neither of them could find the will to speak. Ian had just seen one his own thrown out like garbage left to be picked up, and he knew Jack was ruthless, but this? This was way out of Ian's league. There was no way he could come back, he realized again, this time the fact hitting him harder. He couldn't go back and he had nowhere else to go.

To Dave though, he had just seen an innocent from the motorcade murdered. That could have been Natalie, he ran through his mind again. That could have been Rick. That could have been him. There was no way Dave couldn't stand by and do nothing anymore, not when he was a witness to this. How many more people were dead already? Was Natalie or Rick among them? Would he find their bodies laying out under a bush somewhere, he too late to do anything to change their fate? He didn't know, couldn't know, but he could imagine the worst, and it pissed him off and scared him at the same time. He needed to do something. Now.

"We need to get down there somehow." Dave expressed his feelings bluntly. "We have to do something." Ian muttered something unintelligible underneath his breath.

Dave turned to look at Ian.

"Did you hear me?" Ian nodded, avoiding directly looking into his eyes. The passion in Dave's voice was evident.

"Yeah, I heard you."

"Then I need some help." Dave pleaded, unsure whether or not even he could even do this _with_ Ian's help. Still, doing nothing was worse than trying anything.

"What do you think you're going to do?" Ian asked, now looking into Dave's eyes. "There's, like, thirty of them down there. What do you think you're going to accomplish?"

"Well, I'm not going to just sit around and do nothing!" Dave's anger flared. He needed plans, not doubt.

"You have one guy with a gun," Ian argued, "they have dozens." He shook his head. "Getting yourself killed isn't going to fix anything either." Dave fell silent, trying to find a way to pick Ian's logic apart, but he couldn't. In the end, Ian was right. The two of them couldn't just charge into the camp, guns 'a blazing, so Dave could play Mario and rescue the princess along with everyone else. They had to think of something, and they had to do it before someone else got killed.

"Couldn't you just send in a few of your friends?" Ian threw the idea out there, hoping Dave would still see the merit in the plan.

"I don't want to kill the ones I'm trying to save." Dave shot back immediately, still a little irritated by the reality of their situation. He had already thought of a plan along the same lines Ian was, but he threw it out for the very same reason. "If I send a bunch of those things in, how will I stop them from just killing Natalie or Rick or anyone else that doesn't deserve to die?" Dave ran that line through his head again, realizing he had passed the execution order on anyone he didn't deem fit to live anymore.

"You can control them can't you?"

"I can a little bit." Dave sighed, relenting. "It's difficult though." Ian, a little disappointed that Dave wasn't the full blown commander Ian had thought him to be, continued with the idea anyway.

"Couldn't you send a bunch of them at the gate and while they're distracted, maybe slink in and get a few out?" Ian didn't hold his breath, but the silence that met his idea gave him a little hope. Dave was thinking it through.

"If I could get enough of them, sure, it might work." Dave wondered how he was going to keep Ian out of danger while he gathered the number necessary to pull off such a stunt.

"Then you could-" A twig snapped from behind them and they both swung their rifles to meet the sound.

"How the fu-"

"Don't shoot." Dave ordered, getting to his feet, the rifle now lowered. A zombie was slowly stumbling it's way over to where they were. Somehow, it had almost snuck up on them while they had been planning.

"Well, I'm not going to let it eat me." Ian responded, reminding Dave that there was no place he could really go to get out of the zombie's reach.

Dave ignored him, and made his way up to the thing. It was still walking, albeit with trouble. It's limbs moved stiffly, and Dave wondered if it was undergoing rigor mortis.

"What-" Ian caught himself, remembering that Dave didn't have to worry about the danger. Ian, however, didn't lower his rifle. If that thing got too close... Well, Ian had a finger on the trigger.

Dave stood directly in front of the zombie, a young male dressed in tattered jeans and a shirt that used to be green. Like the others, it had died violently, and blood was caked on a lot of it's body. When Dave put his hand on the zombie's shoulder, it stopped walking, and Dave found he didn't get light in the head when it did as he wanted it to. He hoped this was a good sign.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked. "Can you get it to stop?" But before he could even get an answer from Dave, he could see even now that the zombie wasn't moving towards him anymore, although it's eyes were still focused on him as if he was a happy meal.

"Stop." Dave ordered, drawing it's gaze. "Don't look at him." The zombie followed, and Dave, unsure, took his hand off of it's shoulder. When he did, the zombie started moving again, in Ian's direction.

"Don't let that thing near me." Ian said, his rifle coming back up from where it had begun to drop. "I swear I'll put a bullet in it right here."

"Don't shoot." They both knew a shot might bring the camp behind them running to investigate, and they couldn't afford that. They needed those men to think they were safe, but Dave didn't know what he was doing. He was going on instinct.

He put his hands on the shoulders of the zombie again and it stopped moving once more.

"Do not move when I take my hands off of you." He gave the order once more, speaking clearly, as if that might be the key to effectively controlling the undead. He was sure of himself, knowing inside that he could do this. He had seen it happen with every other zombie he had tried to command, even if he hadn't thought it possible. When it came down to the facts, he could still control them to a certain limit.

When he released his grip, the zombie didn't move. Dave took a step back, put some distance between him and the undead, and stood beside Ian, who's rifle was still aimed. Without a word, Dave gently eased the weapon down and away from the zombie, easing the tension as he did.

"Are you sure it will stay like that?" Ian asked, not really believing what he had just witnessed. He was used to them running at him, trying to tear him apart, not just standing still and staring at him like that.

"Yeah," Dave answered, although he couldn't be sure, "it's not going anywhere."

"Then let's get the fuck out of here," Ian moved away from the zombie and the camp behind them. "because I'm not sticking around this thing forever."

"Why?" Dave asked, finding a sudden humor as they made their way through the trees. "He seems to like you." They both began walking the way they had come before and the zombie followed close behind although Dave hadn't told it to. Ian looked behind them and found that it was still eying him.

"Actually," Ian began, walking off to the slide, letting Dave and the zombie pass him by, "I think it should stay in front of us."

Dave laughed, a real laugh, something that seemed like he had done a lifetime ago and certainly something he hadn't expected to do now, but he couldn't help it. The absurdity of the situation couldn't be ignored.

"You two could be buddies or something." Dave added, motioning for Ian to walk beside the zombie.

"You couldn't pay me to." This felt good. After so long, their situation had seemingly drained them of their ability to find good in the world. It was taxing, and it felt good to laugh genuinely.

"You do know what this means though, right?" Ian asked, suddenly serious. Dave knew what he was indicating. Dave really did have control over the dead, this had confirmed it, and he could use the power for his own means.

"I wonder though." Dave went on. "Doing one is easy, but any more and it get's difficult." He was referring to the feeling he got when he tried to manipulate them, to bend them to his will. It was even harder with Clemens, who somehow seemed to have a mind of his own, as ludicrous as that was.

"Maybe you could get better with practice." He shrugged off Dave's disbelieving look. "You know, like baseball or something?" Ian made the motion of swinging a bat and clicked his tongue, simulating the impact of a ball.

"I don't know." Dave sighed. "I wish I knew how, but it's nice knowing it's possible." He continued. "At first, I thought I was only immune. Then I noticed I could get them to move when I wanted to, but it was really hard." He flashed back to his first encounter with the undead, in the house he had fallen asleep in. They had been crowding the stairwell, and he wanted them to move, so they did, to his amazement. If he thought it was hard now, he remembered when he couldn't even get one to move out of his way without nearly fainting from the lightheaded feeling he got then.

"I wish I could say the same," Ian found himself saying. They found the road once more, and, after checking to ensure no one was around, they stepped out onto the pavement. "but I'm still like everyone else." He indicated the zombie in front of them, realizing at the same time that if anyone had really been out here, they probably would taken a shot at the thing before they had made a move to follow it. In a way, it was like stringing bait out to check for danger.

"I wish I could give you what I have." Dave responded sincerely. After all, it would have been much easier if Ian could do the same things he could. He wouldn't have to worry about protecting him, getting the zombies to stop staring at him. "Do you know where we're headed?" They both stopped in the middle of the road, the zombie continuing without them.

"I don't know." They had both thought the other had a plan. Now that it was out in the open, they knew they had to come up with something.

"We could always hide out in one of those houses over there." Dave suggested, knowing that staying inside would be much better than out in the woods somewhere.

"I don't think so." Ian said. "I wouldn't want to be this close to Jack and them." He accidentally let the name slip before he could stop himself. He hoped Dave wouldn't notice.

"Who?"

"Jack." Ian went on, knowing he couldn't come up with a lie quick enough. He opted to go with the truth. "He is the one in charge of those guys." Dave gave him a look, and Ian explained. "I overheard a few of them a ways back when they tried to grab me." He watched Dave's face, knowing it was unlikely that Dave would find the truth.

"Jack, huh?" Ian nodded his head in response.

"Yeah." He saw a look of quiet contemplation cross Dave's face.

"Then I guess I know who I'm going after." Ian had his doubts, but the tone of his voice left little _to _doubt. Jack was in charge of the place and he was sadistic when he wanted to be, but something about Dave gave off a similar vibe. He ignored it and let the feeling go. Forget about it, he would figure it out later.

"Anyway," Ian said, quickly changing the subject, "there were a few houses we passed back there that we might be able to use." Dave was about to answer when a loud gunshot pierced the air. They both jumped, jerking their head towards the direction the sound had come from. They looked to the camp, where it had emanated, then to the zombie who was still walking away from them and across the intersection by the gas station, in full view of the camp. Another shot, and they watched a cloud of what seemed like dust appear from the zombie's chest. Then it occurred to them, the camp had spotted the zombie and were shooting.

"Let's go." Dave said, tugging Ian's shirt as he left in the other direction. They weren't going to be around when the camp investigated. They began jogging, their bags over one shoulder and their rifles in their other hand, when another gunshot went off. When Dave looked back, he was just in time to see the zombie fall to the ground, a hole in it's head.

* * *

"Good shot, Ben." The inmate beside him remarked. Benjamin ignored him, watching the body as it lay in the road through his scope. No one in this damn camp had any kind of control. As soon as they had spotted the thing walking across the road, someone had fired. What if they drew undue attention to themselves? It would be stupid to die because a few guys couldn't control their trigger fingers. Nevertheless, Benjamin had put an end to it quickly enough. He was already in a tower, and those idiots couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, so he ended it with a single, well placed shot. They might check the body out later, but for now, Ben was finished with work. He climbed down the ladder of the tower and ignored the hanging high-fives a few of the men offered him. They were stupid and couldn't be trusted. They couldn't even control their inhibitions when it came to the people they had nabbed off the road days ago. It disgusted him, although Ben knew he would be partaking in the entertainment at some point as well during the night.

Still, he had a feeling it would be the end of them all some day.


	12. Checkpoints

Checkpoints

"Let's go people. Don't start falling behind now."

Michael ignored the soldier and concentrated on just carrying his brother. They didn't understand what he was going through. His arms creaked, his legs ached, and everything else was sore beyond belief. If he wanted to lag behind a little then that was his business, not theirs.

"Come on," the man holding the other end of the stretcher spoke quietly, respectfully, "we have to keep up." Michael was reminded that it wasn't just him suffering here. He should be thankful for the help. He looked down at his brother. He should be thankful for a lot of things.

He tried to focus on something else and let his mind wander. Time seemed to pass quicker that way. He thought of his aching body, then Dave. It wasn't helping. Nothing was. He imagined Karen and his mother. Where were they?

From up ahead, a whisper started down the line. It finally reached them through the soldiers standing near them.

"Hold up."

"Stop walking."

It hurt to walk, but it was worse just standing around, supporting his brother on the stretcher, but he did it anyway.

"Why are we stopping?" He heard someone ask.

"They're checking out the house ahead." The soldiers had gotten friendly with them during their trip. Before, they hadn't spoke much, but now they were much more open.

"We need to keep going." Michael heard someone else say. "We can't just sit here all day." Silently, he found himself agreeing.

"And if something comes out of that house, we could all be fucked." The soldier shot back. Silence was the only reply. Everyone was still tense and exhausted.

Michael looked up to see the house in question. A two story sitting by the road was the only close building. Everything else around them was either a field or a distant home or barn. This was the first time they had actually come across a building this close. He watched as a group of ACU clad men stacked on the door, and then entered. No one made a sound as they watched it happen. Then, a few long minutes later, the men returned. Michael could see them giving a thumbs up to someone in the column, and the line started moving again, this time to the house they had just cleared.

"Are we getting a rest?" Michael asked despite himself. He wanted to keep going for his brother but at the same time knew he needed to sit down.

"I don't know yet," the soldier responded, his voice lacking any impatience, "let's just get in there and see what's going on."

It took a minute for Michael to finally get to the front porch of the home, they had since drifted to the back of the line while they were walking. It was precarious at first to get his brother up the steep stairs that lead up into the raised platform, but they finally got him up there and inside. In the living room, with all of its antique looking decorations and stuffy atmosphere, they laid him down on a table.

"I have to use the bathroom." The man that helped carry the stretcher said as soon as James was laying on the table. "I'll be right back." He swiftly left the room, disappearing behind the crowd of people huddled around. There wasn't a lot of room now that everyone had gotten inside, and Michael's head swiveled to get a good look around. Soldiers had already taken up places by the doors and windows, and Michael felt safe enough. Then he realized that he too had business in the restroom.

He looked down to his brother for a moment. He looked like he could have been sleeping, but he could be in a coma for all Michael knew, and he was reluctant to leave his brother's side for a moment. Still, he had to use the restroom, so with a final glance around, he left the living room.

He made his way through the house, sometimes excusing himself when he bumped into others, and sometimes not caring enough. He searched the crowded rooms for a restroom and, when he couldn't find one, then moved to the stairs so he could look on the second floor. There weren't many people up here, most of them still recovering from various stages of whatever was afflicting them. Michael guessed sheer shock, and knew he was probably suffering as well. The car, it had only taken seconds for them to roll off the road. He wondered how it happened and found that he couldn't remember.

"Where are you going?" A passing soldier asked him when he reached the top of the steps. Michael barely heard him.

"Uh," he stammered, "bathroom." The soldier nodded and pointed to a door just behind him.

"It's in there." He added, "Don't take long, there's probably going to be a line." Michael didn't nod, just went to stand by the door the soldier had indicated. It was closed, the light on, and obviously in use. He felt the need to pee gaining on him.

Finally, the door opened and the man from earlier emerged, apologizing for the wait, and disappeared down the stairs behind them. Michael ignored him, too tired to really listen, and quickly stepped foot into the small bathroom, closing the door behind him. He took the time to press the small button on the handle so it would lock, and then he moved in front of the toilet. In the cramped space, Michael unzipped the front of his pants, then quickly fell to his knees, both hands on the side of the toiler, and vomited.

He felt the stinging in his throat and the horrible taste in his mouth and dry heaved several more times, his vision clouding from the effort. The smell was terrible, and he found the flushing handle quickly. He watched as the bile was sent spiraling down until it disappeared, leaving him to wonder what had just happened. He hoped he wasn't getting sick. After kneeling there for another few minutes, he let his eyes clear from the tears that had sprung up there. He didn't think, he just stared as the toilet began slowly filling back up.

But finally, he stood back up and relieved himself properly. When he was done, he took a step to the sink and turned the loose handle of the spigot and let the clean water flow over his hands. He didn't bother with soap, and when he was finished, he swished some water around in his mouth to get rid of the taste of vomit in his mouth. Then, he turned the spigot off and looked into the mirror.

He looked horrible. His hair was messy, his clothes were messy, and they had blood covering them, probably from his own brother. He turned the sink back on and splashed cold water over his face, letting it dribble off and back into the sink. It felt good, so he did it twice more. Time passed by as he stared into the sink's drain. It was dark and he couldn't see down into it, and he found himself wishing he could just disappear inside of that dark and vanish too.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. A voice urged him to hurry and he did so out of unconscious courtesy. He dried his face on the towel hanging from the rack by the sink and opened the door, stepping out so the next person could enter. The soldier was right, he noticed, people were starting to form a line at the bathroom. He was glad he had gotten here first.

Silently, he made his way past the people waiting and back down the stairs, he bumped into another group as he went and excused himself quietly, then found his way to where James was still laying. He was relieved to see that his brother was still there, though it wasn't like he could move on his own. He didn't want to let his brother out of his sight for long though, afraid that something could happen while he was gone. What that something was, Michael either couldn't or didn't want to think about.

He stood beside the table, unable to take a seat because the couch and chairs had already been occupied by the lucky few who had grabbed them first. Michael looked out over them, seeing the sad and lost looks on their faces and knew his probably looked the same. He wondered if what he was seeing was the thousand yard stare so talked about among veterans and disaster survivors alike.

Sitting down on the carpet, he forgot about his worries and was just glad that he could finally sit and rest. His feet were killing him, so he leaned his head against the table leg and closed his eyes, and it was there he fell asleep.

Then he woke back up, what seemed like seconds later. People were stirring around him, a few of them already starting out of the room. It was eerily quieter than what it had been earlier, though Michael wasn't sure how much time had exactly passed. How long was he asleep for?

A few people passed over him, making him wait before he could get back to his feet. When they had gone, he rose, his knees popping in protest. He looked around and saw that everyone was leaving and it was still daylight outside, which must mean he hadn't been out for too long. Michael felt like he was out of breath already as he watched them leave, and he hadn't even began walking yet. He wondered how long they had until they reached their destination. Maybe a mile more? He hoped nothing more than that, the pain from carrying the stretcher for so long was beginning to wear on him.

He turned and found his brother still lying on the table. He threw another look around, half expecting the man who helped him before to be there. He wasn't, and Michael found that he was suddenly the only one willing to carry his brother.

"Hey," He said to anyone nearby, his voice croaking, "I need to get my brother off of the table." No one looked him in the eyes, or if they did, they quickly averted their gaze. "I said I needed help." He said again, louder, hoping no one had answered just because they hadn't heard him. A few heads turned, but no one stepped forward.

Michael watched them go in disbelief. Was no one really going to help him?

"Please?" He tried to get someone's attention, but they weren't being convinced. "It's just another mile or so!" He hoped someone, anyone would step forward and offer their hand. No one did, and he quickly began to panic, feeling as though he would hyperventilate. How was he going to carry his brother?

He turned to where James was laying, slamming a hand down on the table. The tears already began creeping their way into his eyes. He was so frustrated. With only a short distance left to travel, he was willing to drag his brother on the stretcher by himself for the whole way, and began to think of a way he could do just that. Grab one end of the stretcher and pull? It might work, and it might be his only viable option.

Moving to the end of the stretcher that James' head rested on, Dave felt the rough grips that had been fashioned there. He needed to get it off of the table without tipping and sending his brother onto the floor, but he couldn't figure a way, his mind was too busy thinking of the worst case, that he wouldn't be able to carry his brother at all. He wouldn't let that happen, not after everything Michael had done for him to get this far.

Moving his arms to hold both ends of the stretcher, Michael tested to see if he could move it. Giving a pull, he found that he couldn't, not without it ending with his brother splayed out on the floor. He put a hand on his forehead, frustration building. He couldn't move his brother, he concluded. How in the world was he going to get him to the checkpoint?

He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, a gesture to comfort himself more than the unconscious man. He needed a way to fix this, and he stared hard at James as if his brother had all the answers. There had to be a way.

He continued to concentrate on his brother's face. He looked almost peaceful, but Michael knew the painful truth, and as he looked closer, he wondered if his brother would ever be okay. Then, as if he had been slapped with the realization, Michael saw that something was very wrong with his brother.

He put a hand on James' forehead, finding it cool to the touch. That wasn't right, he had been warming to a probable fever earlier. Michael suddenly felt sick as something terrible gripped his insides.

"No." He felt his brother's wrist for a pulse. He didn't find one. "No no no no" He repeated, his voice beginning to break. "This isn't happening." He pushed his fingers against the skin, trying desperately to find something there. Again, there was nothing. His vision blurring, he laid a hand on James' chest to see if it was moving, a last test. It wasn't, and Michael fell to his knees, crying.

This couldn't be happening, not when James had a chance, even if it was so slight, of getting to this checkpoint that could have helped him. After all they had been through, this isn't how it was going to end. He had just fallen asleep for a moment. Michael got back up and turned his blurred vision to what he thought was the front of the house.

"Please," He cried, "someone help me." He felt for the table so he could maintain his balance, and watched a blurry spot make its way towards him. It was one of the soldiers.

"Come on, man." He heard him say. "There's nothing we can do." The soldier laid his hands on Michael, trying to get him out of the house. Michael felt the pull and had half a mind to rip his arm away, but he found that he could barely move on his own.

"We have to help him." He managed to utter through hiccups. "We can't just leave him here." There was no reply as a second set of hands gripped him by his other arm and out of the house. He felt fresh air whip him in the face, and he struggled to wipe away the tears that were staining his vision. Were they not helping him because they already knew?

"Please!" He begged, knowing it was fruitless. He couldn't just leave his brother like that. He dropped to his knees, feeling the sharp pain as he landed on pavement. He turned his head down and sobbed, the hands that had him releasing their grip. He felt them standing around him, and felt the looks of everyone else upon him, but he didn't care. He laid his head down on the road and continued to cry.

After all that he had been through, couldn't he keep _something_? Everything else had been taken away from him. His mother was gone, his wife was gone, his two best friends were dead, and now James was the same.

He remembered what he and his brother used to be like before all of this, remembered that they had once been close. He cursed the sky, the people that stood around, and he cursed himself for not taking care of his brother better, for falling asleep as James lay dying. Then he couldn't think of anything. His mind blanked, and all he could was let his tears drop onto the pavement below.

* * *

As the sun began to slowly dip towards the horizon, the group finally caught sight of their destination. The checkpoint lay before them, its defenses manned by soldiers and waiting with trucks to cart them off to safety. Many half-ran to it in their excitement.

But a few lagged behind, either too tired to run or afflicted by something else entirely. Michael walked with them, walking but not thinking. He was too busy concentrating on the ache that still pulsed in his arms, the ache that came from carrying the stretcher, his brother. He found he couldn't get rid of it, and he didn't want to.


	13. Reconciliation

Reconciliation

A half hour later, he found himself just sitting there on the sidewalk. How could he do anything more? Everything he had was gone so what did he have to live for? He fingered the revolver at his side, gripped the handle and wondered if he could do it. What would stop him? He looked around to the people standing near him. Would they try and save him? He looked back down to the ground; probably not. After all, they hadn't helped his brother, and he hated them all the more for it.

"Can we get everyone over here for a minute?" He heard someone shout. The voice had authority, but he didn't bother looking up to see who it was or what they wanted. He once again felt the gun's polymer grip.

"We need you all to form rows to each truck." He heard the voice once more, but he continued to ignore it as those around him began to move away, heading to the source of the directions. He felt isolated even when there were people around him, so it didn't make any difference now that they had left. Once they were gone, maybe then he could think straight, figure out what to do next.

Footsteps sounded from in front of him and he felt as though someone was staring at him. Hesitantly, he looked up. If it was a soldier, he'd probably follow any direction given to him. It wasn't in him to disobey an authoritative figure, and he'd rather avoid any confrontation. If it was just another person though, he probably wouldn't even speak. He remembered something about body language supposedly giving off signals as to whether a person wanted to be spoken to or approached, and wondered what his was saying about him.

He looked up to see his wife and his mother.

"It is him." It was all Michael heard before he jumped from his position and wrapped his arms around Karen. He didn't speak, only let his tears spring anew.

"What's wrong?" He heard his wife ask. The concern in her voice was beautiful to him, and he believed he would never hear anything better than the sound of it. Then he felt her stiffen, probably a reaction to his state of dress, but she didn't pull away, only returned the hug. He ran a hand through her hair and pulled back to look at her face. At the sight of her, Michael could barely contain himself. He felt like he'd just been hanging over a cliff, ready to fall, only to be swept away back into the arms of safety at the last minute. He'd been so close. But now he had her, and, as he looked to her stomach, he knew he had something to look forward to.

"Where's James?" The sound of his mother's voice broke into his moment, and he managed to stop his tears. He looked into his wife's eyes, passing through some invisible connection the news of his brother. He watched her face turn, twist into one of sympathy, and it somehow hurt him even more to know that she wouldn't be able to fathom his pain.

Finally, he released his wife, allowing her some breathing room, and he turned to his mother. He'd reflected on a lot the past hour, having a lot of time to do it. He revisited the beginning, remembering what he and everyone else had done to try and prepare for this, and noted how they had failed. He went over when he raced to reach Paul's house when it was under attack, and he remembered having to drop one of his best friends off on the side of the road because he was 'infected'. He went back to the hotel they stayed at, and revisited the events that all led up to the accident on the highway that took Paul's life and later James', and he remembered a distinct voice over all the others when he finally woke back up: his mother's.

He recalled what she had said, how she had been so ready to leave her sons in that wreckage without even checking to see if they were alive. She had taken Karen and ran, leaving them to their fate. Did she even care that one of her sons were dead? He fumed, unable to formulate the words to accurately describe how he felt, but he was sure it was obvious in his eyes.

"Where is he?" She asked again, and for him it was the last straw. He blew up.

"Where the fuck do you think?" He shouted, the anger exploding from his voice. A few heads turned their way, but no one stepped forward. He felt his vision clouding again.

"Excuse me?" His mother went on, her hands flying to her hips. If she thought he was going to listen just because she was his mother, then she had another thing coming.

"You heard me." Karen stepped behind him, as if hurt by the outburst. She put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him.

"Michael," she began, "please." He ignored her, threw his shoulder so her hand was no longer resting on it, and stepped towards his mother.

"No." He refused, now ignoring Karen altogether. He pointed an accusatory finger at his mother. "Do you really want to know where he is?" He told himself that he should stop now, before he hurt his mother, but he ignored it. He couldn't control himself. Instead, he wiped a tear that had sprung up and continued. "He's lying on a fucking table in some house that we passed a while back!" He watched his mother's face as it twisted from anger to shock and finally rest on what could be described as heartbroken.

"What?" Was all she could mutter.

"Yes," Michael continued, still angry, "he died while I was dozing off after I fucking dragged him for miles on some thrown together excuse for a stretcher!" He felt like his emotions were out of control. He felt extremely angry at his mother, but he empathized with her at the same time. "And this was all after you ran-", he was interrupted by his own sobs, "and left us to die!" He dropped the gaze that he held his mother in so he could clear it of the tears. He hated her for leaving, but he was so glad she was alive.

Around them, Michael felt the silence pressing in on him. They were speechless at his outburst, and he listened as his mother began her own round of crying. Her favorite son was dead, he guessed, though he wished he didn't think that way. He just wanted to turn away, turn away and just disappear, but he felt Karen's hand on him again. She wrapped her arms around him as he cried, laying her head on his shoulder, ignoring the shakes caused by his sobs. He didn't hug her back, only left his arms to hang by his sides.

"It's going to be okay." She soothed, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry." He let his head rest on her shoulder. Even she didn't sound so sure that everything would be fine.

"I wasn't even awake when he died." He sobbed. "I wasn't even there." He felt so guilty. After all he did to protect and try to save his brother, it had been for nothing. He just wanted to die, to end it all and be done with it.

"Are you guys okay?" A distant sounding voice asked. He heard Karen say something, though he wasn't sure what. Someone was probably investigating his outburst. Then, slowly, she began urging him in a direction. He didn't want to move, but he followed anyway. Before he knew it, he had climbed aboard one of the trucks. Why should he even go?

He heard the motor start up, and then they were moving, but he didn't look up. Looking up meant the chance he would catch someone's eye and then he would have to find an excuse for how he looked, even though many were in the same shape he was. It didn't matter to him though, he should be in better condition than this. Either way, he might also see his mother, and that wouldn't be what he wanted, considering what he had said. Now he wished he could take it back, knowing that he had hurt his mother deeply. He had hurt himself too. He was just under so much stress, or maybe it was something else. He didn't know.

"I'm sorry." Karen whispered into his ear again, placing an arm around him. Michael didn't have the energy to tell her not to be sorry, that it wasn't her fault. He wanted to be gone from here, forever, and nothing more, so he let the truck's rhythmic bouncing clear his mind. He tried to focus on nothing, trying to not think.

"Where's my mother?" He finally asked, still staring at the floor of the truck. Even after trying to abandon the world, the thought of his mother continued to float to the surface of his thoughts.

"What?" Karen didn't hear him.

"I said: where is my mother?" He asked, louder. He felt her pull away from him for a moment.

"She's right here beside me." He nodded his head, but did nothing else. As long as she was here, that was good. He wanted her to be safe, even if he couldn't find the strength to speak to her again or tell her how sorry he truly was.

Another minute passed.

"Do you want to speak to her?" Her arm once again looped around the back of his neck, and he felt her close beside him. It was comforting, though he felt like he couldn't reach out to her even if he tried.

"No." He finally responded. "Not now." He shook his head, affirming his decision. He felt her take a deep breath, a sign she was probably worried about him. Hell, he was worried about himself too. Would he recover from this? Could he?

From his right, he could still hear his mother weeping. Every time she drew a breath, it was riddled with hiccups and he could practically feel her tears hit the floor of the truck. Why couldn't she stop? Please, he begged, please stop crying. He should do something to comfort her, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything at all. Instead, he continued to stare at the floor, anything to block out the world. There was no way this could continue, he wouldn't survive like this.

"Michael," he heard Karen speak to him, "I'm sorry." He didn't want her to apologize, he just wanted her to continue the circles she was rubbing into his back. It felt nice.

She stopped the circles.

"I know you're not okay right now." She went on, talking into his ear. "But, your mother is in a lot of pain." She paused. "She needs you." He somehow doubted that she would even want to look at him after how he had yelled at her. He continued staring at the floor, trying to act like he hadn't heard her, like a child would.

"Michael." Her voice grew sterner. "I'm so sorry about what happened." He heard her voice falter for a moment and knew she was sincere. "But you both need each other." Deep down, he knew she was right. He wanted nothing else but to hug them both as tight as he could and never let go. He wished he could go back and stop himself from delivering the news of his brother's death like he had. Then he thought of Paul, noting that no one had even asked about him at all. Was he so easily forgotten? He felt something grip his chest, knew it was another bout of tears, but he had none left anymore. He couldn't cry.

"Michael?" He heard Karen's voice once more, and he sat up in his seat. "Are you okay?" He shook his head.

"No." She bit her bottom lip, looking like she was about to cry. He hated that look.

"I'm so sorry." She hugged his side, ignoring that he hadn't taken a bath since- since he couldn't remember when. He wrapped an arm around her, brushing his lips across her forehead.

"I know." He whispered. "There's nothing you can do anymore." She tightened her hug, her way of responding. He took a deep breath, still able to smell the shampoo she had last used. Her hair faintly smelled like strawberry.

"Let me switch seats with you." He finally told her. "I'll talk to her." She released him, looking deeply into his eyes. She was crying, the tears tracking their way down her cheeks.

"I love you so much." He tried to smile, tried to look happy for her. He wiped a tear from her face.

"I know," he said, "and I love you too." She held his gaze for a moment more, then he let her go. He stood up in the cramped space that was the back of their canvas truck and waited until she had moved over so he could take her place. When he was back down, he was sitting next to Rachael, his mother, and he struggled on what he should do.

She still had her head down, her arms splayed across her knees. He could tell she was still crying, her body continued to shake. Each one caused him pain. Each one had been caused by him.

"Mom?" He gently rested a hand on her shoulder. She didn't react. "Mom, I'm sorry." He passed his arm over his mother's shoulders and pulled her closer. She didn't refuse and buried her head into his chest.

He let her cry like that for a long time. He couldn't blame her for it either, he was partly responsible for it. He again wished he could take it all back.

"I didn't mean to yell at you." He whispered into her ear. He felt like he could start crying again any minute.

"I loved you boys so much." He finally heard her say. "I know when I moved down to Florida and took your brother it had been a mistake."

"No it wasn't." He said, trying to soothe her, but knowing that he agreed on the inside.

"Don't lie to me." She said, though her voice didn't have a trace of malice. "I know how close you two were." He felt her smile for a moment. "I am your mother after all." Despite himself, Michael smiled.

Then their smiles faded, and she continued.

"It's just that when your father died," he heard the emotion in her voice, "it's just that we had always planned to go there and after he died..." She had to stop again as she wiped at her eyes. "After he died, I didn't have anyone left but you boys." She looked up at him and their eyes met. Her's were blurry with tears.

"I know." It was all he could think to say. "It's fine."

"No it wasn't." She repeated. "I split you boys up before I should have." A shake of her head, "I'm so sorry for it."

Reaching up, he wiped away an escaping tear.

"Don't be sorry for something that happened in the past." He tried to smile, but found he couldn't, not even for his own mother. "This isn't because of you."

"Yes," she agreed, "but I certainly didn't help." She took one of his hands in hers. "I'm just sorry about everything." Michael responded with another hug, choosing action over words. His throat was choked with emotion, and he probably couldn't of spoken if he wanted to.

"It just hurt so much." He finally found the words. "It just killed me when I-" he couldn't finish. He wiped his running nose and tried to clear his eyes again. "When I found that you two had run after the accident, I just felt so bad." He felt her shake as she began crying again.

"I'm so sorry." She repeated. "I'm so sorry." They both cried, sobbing hard, but this is was they needed, Michael knew it deep down. If anything could save them, this would be it. They needed to let it all out, not hold it in like before.

"I love you." Michael found himself saying. He didn't care that he was in the back of a truck, cramped into a small seat, and filthy. He didn't care what anyone else thought. From behind him, he felt Karen envelope him in a hug and they all three sat there in their own world. Nothing could break this, and nothing could hurt them, and slowly, they felt their chances in the world brighten.


	14. A Day's Work

I really do want to thank those who have been following this thing, it's appreciated. Updates are going to happen soon.

* * *

A Day's Work

On the very edge of the horizon, the sun was struggling to keep its position in the sky. It's dying rays cast a deep mix of orange and red through the sky and everything it touched glowed with a warm radiance. But not the sun nor its warmth could affect the dead, and they ignored the colors swimming through the air, the warm touch of the sun as it set, and instead continued walking through the remains of former lives, of civilization. And as night fought for control of the skies, the color gradually faded and died from view, replacing the warmth with the darkness and cold, and it was this dark that Jack worried about.

This was the second time he had checked the perimeter of the fencing. It would probably become his obsession, but nothing was going to get close to them. Nothing.

"It looks like none have showed up since the last one." Benjamin appeared beside him, reporting. He had told Jack about the thing that had walked by their camp, and also how the men hadn't controlled themselves, opting to take potshots rather than just let it pass.

"Keep looking." Jack responded without taking his eyes off of the tree line. Just because there hadn't been any recently didn't mean they wouldn't show up five minutes from now, or maybe even hours later. He had seen first hand how stupid they were, how they would just beat their hands against a door for eternity if they thoughts there was a person on the other side. If they had been attracted by the weapons fire then they would come, and Jack needed to be ready for it.

He looked to the fencing. Something needed to be done about it. Sure, it looked well enough, but Jack knew it served more as a deterrent than as a true obstacle. If those things really wanted in, then they would get in. All they had to do was collect enough of them at one section and push and pull with all they had. The fence would go down easy, but he wasn't about to let that happen. They needed to find something to reinforce the fence with and quick.

He continued walking the perimeter, returning a nod or two he got from the men he passed. For the most part, they knew he was in charge and there were no problems, but already there had been two fights between rival prison gangs, which was stupid, considering it was the apparent end of the world and none of those ties mattered anymore. These men needed to pull it together and start thinking a little more. Jack laughed at the statement. They were inmates after all.

Then there was also the growing problem of food. The scraps they had dragged in after finding the place were beginning to dwindle. They would soon have to venture out and find more, which would put them all in danger. Jack shook his head. There were so many problems, so many issues that needed dealt with. He wouldn't have believed it would be this difficult to run a gang. He needed to clear his head, try to come up with something that would take care of his problems. Maybe he should pay a visit to one of the girls that had been taken. Maybe that would help clear his head.

He heard a commotion from one of the barracks close by, from where they were keeping those people locked up, and turned his head to be greeted by the sight of four or five men struggling on the ground. The doors of the barracks were wide open, and a crowd was slowly beginning to develop around those fighting.

"Fight!"

"Kick his ass!"

Jack didn't know who was fighting, only angry that it was happening. He stepped up to the closest two and pulled the one on top by his shirt, throwing him to the side. But this didn't do anything to stop the fight that was beginning to escalate around him. Seeing this, Jack's hand traced its way to his side, where his handgun was holstered. Pointing it in the air, he fired once, then twice.

It didn't happen immediately, some of the fighters were too engrossed in throwing punches to register the gun shots for what they were, but a few from Jack's gang grabbed them and pulled them away from each other. Suddenly, all eyes were on him.

"What the hell is going on?" He lowered the gun.

"They tried runnin'." Was the answer he got from one of the fighters, one who was now sporting a nicely disfigured nose. Blood was beginning to flow from the wound and he wiped it away, looking for the one who gave it to him.

Ignoring him, Jack turned his attention to the building, its doors still open. The people they had shoved in there were beginning to gather, and he didn't want to risk them trying to run. He motioned to a few men beside him to secure the doors and they did so, making their way through the small crowd and pushing the people there back.

"Get back!"

They slammed the doors shut and stood by them, ensuring they couldn't be reopened. Satisfied, Jack turned to the group who had been fighting.

"Now, what happened?"

"I told you," the man with the bloody nose spoke again, getting up from his place on the ground, "they tried to run." He looked at each of the opposing fighters with death in his eyes, still wiping at his own nose.

"Who the hell are you to keep us here like this?" A voice interrupted Jack before he could continue, and he focused on the source. Another man, this one still sitting, a hand grabbing his shirt to keep him there. He was visibly beaten, dirty, and in Jack's mind, on the wrong side of the argument.

"If you don't want to stay", Jack began, motioning to the front gates, "then leave." He smiled. "I'm not stopping you." He was willing to let this problem sort itself out. He was already feeling the stress from the other things that needed to be dealt with.

There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd, and Jack watching the man weigh his choices. In truth, it would have been a difficult decision for anyone to make, but Jack wasn't in that position, so he didn't really care. He began counting down in his mind, giving the man a time limit to choose, to see how long it would take him. Ten... nine...

He watched the man get to his knees, his gaze never leaving Jack's, and dust himself of the dirt that was clinging to his clothes. The man straightened out his shirt, and then shook off the hand that was still on his back. Five... four...

"I want the others too." And then Jack stopped counting. What?

He watching a few looks get cast his way, gauging his reaction, looking for a weakness, or simply for permission to beat the man down where he stood, but he didn't react, not immediately. He actually laughed. This was a nice surprise.

"Who are you to be making demands?" The man knew he had made a mistake, and he looked away from Jack. "I just gave you the chance to walk away. Why wouldn't you take that as it is?" The man didn't answer, didn't move. Jack waited another moment, to see if he would offer any more resistance, but he didn't, and Jack grew bored of the whole situation. He raised the gun and fired. The man fell where he stood, dead before he hit the ground. In his mind, Jack had already counted down to zero.

"Anyone else?" He asked to the rest of them, and felt a wave of pleasure when no one else said anything. They looked away from him, not able to look him in the eyes. Good. He waited another moment, and then turned and walked away, leaving the surviving members of those who had fought to their fate. He didn't care about them anyhow, and it was only inevitable that they would all meet the same end. If anything, he was only ending their suffering sooner, and in a better way than being eaten alive by those things.

Which, as the sounds of another fight broke out behind him, brought him back full circle to his earlier thoughts, and he again started thinking of ways to meet the supply of the camp.

* * *

"The hell do you mean they gather around you?"

Maybe it was a bad choice of words, but Dave hadn't exactly thought it through.

"I just mean that sometimes they tend to gather around wherever I am." It had happened a couple of times before, and Dave knew it might happen again. He just didn't want Ian to be around when it did.

"And you didn't think it would be a good idea to tell me this _before_ we barricaded the doors?" To give him credit, Dave would have been angry if he was in the same situation.

"Look," Dave began again, "sometimes it just happens." He held his hands up, placating. "I don't know how or why." Ian shook his head in response.

"Of course you don't." He laughed cynically. "It just means that I'll be waking up to a house full of the fucking things." He shrugged his shoulders. "That couldn't be a bad thing, right?"

"Which is why I'm giving you a heads up."

"Oh thanks!" Ian laughed again. "I'm really grateful."

Dave pulled a water bottle out of a nearby bag and opened it. He wanted to sleep for now, not argue with Ian, but he guessed there was no way around it. They would need to find a way to make this work, whether the zombies decided to turn up or not. He took a swig from the bottle. At least they had a house they could hole up in, and enough food and water to hold them over for now.

"You could always go to one of the others houses." He suggested, capping the water and placing it on the stand next to the bed he was sitting on. He placed the rifle next to him, happy to get rid of the extra weight.

"But what would I do if they decided that I looked like a meal to them?" Ian had a valid point, and, as he stood in the doorway still holding his rifle, Dave decided that he wouldn't have a chance if a group of them really did turn up.

"What do you want to do then?" It was a choice of isolating himself and praying they didn't realize he was there, or chancing that they wouldn't show up in the first place. Neither one was particularly pleasant, but it wasn't a choice that Dave could make. It was up to Ian, and it was obvious that the man was thinking it through.

He let out a breath, and Dave watched him shake his head in defeat.

"I'm sleeping in here with you if I'm gonna stay."


	15. Details

Details

He was wandering the streets. People passed him as they went to and fro, some heading to work, others meeting with friends to go out. Life seemed back to normal, there were no gunshots or screaming. There weren't any fires marking the buildings, or gangs roaming the streets, and, as strange as it seemed, there were still zombies.

Dave felt the urge to shout a warning to those near him when he saw them, but as he watched, he noticed that no one paid them any mind. They walked together on the streets, waiting for the signal to cross it safely, entering shops, and even driving cars. He shook his head to clear his confusion. This couldn't be right.

"Dave."

Could it be possible that people could live with zombies and be alright?

"Dave!"

Maybe it could.

"David, get up!" He was shaken awake, and the dream faded. "There's one at the door."

"What?"

"I said get up." David opened his eyes, and pulled himself upright on the bed. He was still groggy, sleep making his limbs heavy. He had to pee, and the dream he had faded from his mind.

"What's going on?" He asked Ian, who was standing in the doorway now, his rifle in his hands.

"There's something at the door." The younger man responded, waving for him to follow. "I think it's one of your friends wanting in."

Dave got up off the bed and hunted for his rifle, finding it still standing in the corner he had left it in. Grabbing it up, he followed Ian as he led the way down the hallway and through the house. Dave could hear what he was talking about now, as there was a soft thumping sounding from the front door. He wished it could have been later in the day, it didn't even seem like the sun was fully in the sky yet.

"I think it's one of them 'cause they're always just beating on things, right?" Ian commented, and then they took up a place on either side of the door. There weren't any windows that had a good angle to see what was actually out there, but, as Dave noted, there was a small peephole. He wondered if Ian had panicked and ignored it.

He stepped up to the door and looked through

"What do you see?"

Dave ignored him and immediately recognized the thing on the other side of the door as a zombie. There was no mistaking it with the way they moved, and the one softly beating on the door had the same jerky movements they all seemed to inherit in death. He stepped back from the door.

"It's a zombie alright." He watched Ian relax slightly, as if knowing for sure would help him cope. Dave didn't blame him for being afraid.

"What do we do then?" Ian asked, hefting the gun in his arms. Dave waved him away. He wanted to be done with this quietly, and if he could get the thing to go away on its own then it would be better than shooting it.

"Go back upstairs," he said, "I'll take care of it." Hesitating for only a moment, Ian did what he said and disappeared up the stairs, probably to barricade the bedroom in case things with Dave got out of control.

When the footsteps faded, Dave focused on what he was going to do. He wasn't about to let it in, that would jeopardize Ian too much, though he wondered if he could do with this zombie what he had done with the last one, and make it so it wouldn't just attack. It wasn't the first time the thought had run through his head.

Not giving it another thought, Dave opened the door, gave a light push to the zombie on the other side, and closed it behind him so it couldn't enter. Then, he looked to the zombie, and immediately saw that he knew it. It was Clemens.

"Now how the-" He couldn't even finish. How could he have followed Dave this far? Hadn't he locked him in the car before leaving?

The zombie before him stood still, no longer trying to get in the house, and he wondered what he had done to deserve being followed by it. Though Clemens had his uses, like saving Dave's butt from being manhandled by some militia wannabes, it complicated things with Ian. Clemens was different than the other zombies, even Dave could tell, and he struggled to think of a way they could all coexist.

From above his head, he heard what must have been a window opening, and looked up to the sound to see Ian watching over them. The man waved down at him and produce the rifle.

"No, don't worry about it." Dave said before Ian could sight onto Clemens. "I'll take care of it." He watched as Ian shrugged his shoulders and the rifle disappeared.

"What are going to do?" Ian asked, braver now that he was on the second floor and safely away from any immediate danger.

Dave thought for a moment, wondering just what he _could_ do. He didn't want to just bring Clemens inside as he didn't know how he would react to Ian being there, and he was fairly sure Ian wouldn't exactly be alright with a zombie in the same house that he slept in. He had to find a compromise, and he tried thinking of a way he could keep the zombie around without it posing a danger to anyone. Maybe he could just chain him up in the back or something.

"Stay up there." Dave ordered, and didn't believe that Ian would go against his advice, considering he was still at risk of becoming infected.

"Just yell back up when you need in." And then Ian vanished inside the house, leaving the window open so he could hear what went on outside. Dave watched him go, and then turned his attention back to Clemens. What to do about him? To leave him outside would mean to leave him vulnerable to whoever passed by and the effects of weather. Then again, he couldn't keep him inside.

He waved for the zombie to follow him as he made his way around the house. Clemens seemed to get the basic idea and shuffled behind him. The problem would be finding a place. Dave could always just shove him in a shed somewhere until he was sure Clemens wouldn't try to attack anyone, but it almost sounded a little inhumane. He found himself smiling. Inhuman? It was a zombie after all. It wasn't as if they felt pain.

From behind him, he heard Clemens make that wheezing sound he liked to make so much in lieu of moaning like all the others. Truth be told, Dave was kind of glad he didn't moan. He had heard it plenty before and didn't want to hear it anymore. A sound like that, if listened to over a long period of time, could probably make him go crazy. But the wheezing was okay, and it was quieter, which made Dave happy. He didn't want something following him if it made a lot of noise, not if he was going to try and save those people in the camp.

He was brought back to reality by the thought. He needed to stop being distracted so easily. There was a job that needed done and quickly, which forced him back into the process of planning exactly how he could do it in the first place. He had an idea on how he could, but if the details weren't ironed out enough, it could be dangerous. Actually, he continued, it was dangerous anyway. One slip up, one mistake, and everyone he wanted to help could end up dead, but that's what could happen if he planned on using these zombies to help him.

It hadn't struck him right away as a plan, but the more and more he developed an understanding of what he could do, the more and more it seemed plausible. And if anything, the image of leading a zombie army to the rescue of innocent people was quite something in his head. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy, he reminded himself. There was a lot of danger for even thinking about it, and for reasons unknown to him, Dave still felt as if this immunity could run out at any moment, even though there hadn't been a sign of it actually being possible. It was all still surreal to him in a way. After seeing what became of people when they turned, Dave was sure that he would never want that to happen to him, and the thought of losing this ability frightened him beyond belief.

He shook his head, releasing a deep breath, and tried to take it one step at a time. Right now, he needed a place for Clemens. But then again, if he was planning on taking that camp, why even bother? He would need zombies, and that's what Clemens was after all. No, he threw the thought away. He probably wouldn't make Clemens apart of the assault because, as weird as it may have sounded, he felt like Clemens wasn't just another zombie. He was, but then again, he was something else, at least to Dave. He knew how stupid that sounded, but he couldn't help it. The zombie had saved his life, even if unintentionally, and Dave at least owed him that.

He stopped walking when he reached the backyard. There truly wasn't anything to be had here, as it consisted of only trees and grass. There was a shed, but Dave decided that he wouldn't coop Clemens up in it or chain him up somewhere like a dog. He still needed a way to keep him in the area without him being a threat, but considering he had been able to do it before, he wondered if he should try and make Clemens like the other zombie, subservient and unwilling to attack. Then again, he wondered if he could even influence Clemens like that. He seemed to have a strong personality, even as a zombie, but something needed to be done about him.

Dave walked back to the front of the house, Clemens following close behind. The zombie hadn't shown any reaction when Ian had yelled; Dave wondered if this meant he didn't see the man as a food source. If it was true, then he could just have Clemens stay inside the house. They could put up with the stink.

"Hey, Ian!" He yelled up to the window. A few seconds later, he watching the man's head appear.

"What is that still doing here?" Dave laughed a response.

"I've got a plan."

"You're crazy, do you know that?" Ian remarked. Dave shrugged his shoulders.

"But, if it works, it means we can do what we need to do."

They had left Clemens outside for now, and it didn't look like he was going anywhere. He wasn't even beating on the door. Instead, he seemed to be content with standing outside, just waiting.

So, inside, Ian and Dave began talking, began seriously planning for the first time. Ian still seemed to want to help Dave rescue his friends, and he was grateful for the support, but they needed to hammer out the details and soon. Time, it seemed, at least to Dave, was running out. He was anxious to actually do something, to help strike a blow against this Jack and his little gang.

"Are you really thinking about this?" Ian asked again. Dave barely believed himself, but found that the logic was fairly solid.

"I think it could work." They were sitting in the living room, Dave on a couch and Ian on a chair across from him, a table between them. Dave had a pencil in his hand and a piece of paper on the space between them, drawing out an example. He drew a large rectangle, representing the camp, and then an arrow pointing towards one of the sides. With the crude plan drawn, he looked at Ian for approval.

"I still don't know about this." It sounded nice on paper, but there was a lot that could go wrong. What if someone spotted them? What if, even though Dave was unaware, one of them recognized him? Plus, there was always the risk of the zombies attacking the wrong people. It all just seemed a matter of chance to him. On some level of his thought process, he still wanted all of Jack's gang dead, not really caring if they brought down Dave's friends or not, but then again he would rather have the trust of a man who could control the dead. Losing his friends might mean losing Dave, and he didn't want that to happen at all.

"I figure if we can get enough near the front of the gates to distract them, we could slip in the back and get my people." Dave gave a serious look to Ian. "We could be out of there before they even know what happened."

"Yeah," Ian found himself agreeing, though with reservation, "but if one of them happens to see what we're doing, what then?" Dave sat back, flipping the pencil through his fingers, an old habit he couldn't rid himself of, and thought some more. There had to be a way.

"We have guns." Dave offered weakly. "We could always just shoot them." Then he wondered if he could actually pull the trigger on a fellow human being. Well, he compromised, maybe if they fired first.

"Maybe we should just kill all of them." Ian found himself saying. He saw Dave's reaction and quickly continued. "I mean, if they did this to your friends, what's going to stop them from continuing to do it after we get everyone out?" It was actually a valid point, though Ian had used it as a cover. He saw Dave nod his head in slight agreement.

"I don't know if anyone deserves to be killed like that." He remembered those men at the grocery store clearly, glad he hadn't seen the expression on the man's face he had let die. He probably wouldn't have been able to sleep if he had. Being eaten alive, did anyone deserve that punishment?

"Look at what they did to your friends." Ian continued. "They've kidnapped them." He paused. "What do you think they're keeping them for? Really?" Dave hesitated to answer, not thinking of that before now. He swallowed hard, wondering about Natalie for the hundredth. Was she even alive still?

Ian sat back in his chair, folding his arms. He looked serious, and Dave didn't doubt his words. If he was right, then Dave struggled to imagine what he could possibly do for them.

"All I'm saying," Ian continued, knowing the true fate of Dave's friends, "is that these are bad people we're talking about." He watched the older man shake his head. "We have to do something about them."

Dave nodded, the guilt for waiting so long to do something building upon his shoulders. He hoped they were all okay, really hoped they were okay, but there was only one way to find out.

He steeled himself against his fears, and blocked the doubt that was eating away at his side. This needed to be done, no matter how he felt about it. These men have taken away the freedom of his friends, and it was time he did something about it.

He looked up to Ian.

"We do this tomorrow."


	16. Hammering It Out

I no have Microsoft Word. Forgive me. More coming very soon.

* * *

Hammering It Out

Maybe it was because he didn't want to risk his life, now that the time for doing so was drawing so much closer, that explained why he was feeling so nervous. It could have also been the thought of maybe hurting or even killing another human, something that in the next day or so could very easily happen. The more he thought about it, the sicker he felt, like a twisted version of the pregame jitters, and his hands and legs shook because of it. He could feel his own heart racing, and it hadn't even begun yet. He wondered if this was what soldiers felt heading into battle.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked, eying him from across the room. Dave stopped what he was doing to nod, assuring that his partner didn't have to worry. He needed to get himself together, this was too important to mess up. He wondered how Ian wasn't feeling the same way he was.

"What all do you think we need?" Dave asked to change the subject.

"Probably just a little food and water, plus our guns." There wasn't much conversation between them, not after what Dave had said. It seemed like setting the date for attacking Jack's camp had driven a wall between them, ending all real conversation, at least for Dave. It didn't seem to outwardly affect Ian, but Dave felt the decision like a weight on his shoulders. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't breath, but he pushed it away, knowing it was all in his head. He had to pull himself together, needed to pull himself together.

He dumped the trash bags out onto the bed, revealing what little supplies they had left. A few cans of food that they hadn't tried to cook yet, a bag of chips, and just three more water bottles. He really wished the house he had gotten all of it from had been stocked better. The little scraps they had found in the house they were currently in didn't amount to much either, and it had already been eaten. Dave almost wished people would have been caught more unaware so he could have their food.

He pushed everything aside, ignoring his grumbling stomach. Actually, as he picked up a can of green beans, they should probably eat anyway. He looked at the nutritional facts printed on the other side, wondering if it even mattered anymore. He had never been one to watch what he ate anyway, so he put it back down. They had some vegetables, and one can of mushroom sauce. It wasn't much of a dinner, but it would do them for now. They would have to hunt down more food though, and soon.

But for now, he focused on other things, things that filled him with a sort of dread. He picked up the rifle, still sitting on the bed. It was black and heavy, an ugly piece of work. He had never been against guns, but then again, he had never intended to be in a situation like this. The thought of using it, the knowledge that he might have to pull the trigger on another human being, it made him want to puke.  
He made sure the chamber was cleared, and then checked the magazines.

What were they getting into? With only a limited amount of ammunition and practically no experience, did they even have a chance? He wondered if they were in over there heads. But he had already committed them to this, and he was going to see it through, no matter how afraid he was. After all, if he was feeling this way, then he could only imagine what Natalie or Rick must be facing. That's if they were alive.  
But of course they were still alive. They had to be. After all he was going through to rescue them, they had better be alive. Right?

"Dave."

He was brought out of his thoughts, Ian's voice bringing him to attention. He turned to see him by the window.

"What?"

"Get over here, quick." Ian waved for him to hurry, and he made his way to stand beside the younger man.

"What's going on?" But before Ian could respond, Dave's answer drove past the house. Two cars, both packed with people, disappeared just as quickly as they had come. If Ian hadn't been looking at the road, they would have never even known they were there.  
A moment of silence passed, but they both seemed to draw the same conclusion. The cars came from the direction of Jack's camp. Though there was no real evidence to believe they were apart of the same group, there was a good chance they could have been, and they both understood that. Dave was the first to voice his hunch.

"What if it's them?" Ian let the question sink in before he answered, savoring the silence.

"Then maybe they're leaving the camp or something." He looked to Dave. "You know, like picking up and moving someplace else?" It could be possible, but, at least in Ian's mind, probably not likely. He had heard Jack exclaiming his happiness to the group, telling him that a find like this was just what they were looking for. There wasn't a good chance that he had changed his mind since then.

"If some of them have left," Dave continued, "then that means there are less defending the camp right now." He looked to Ian. "It would be so much easier to do what we have to do."

Ian saw the look in Dave's eyes and knew he was serious about going through with this. Whoever his friends were, they must be very important, because Dave was willing to face a crowd of armed convicts for them. He wondered if his friends would ever do the same.

"Then what do you suppose we do?" He asked, wondering if Dave really had any idea what he was doing.

"I have an idea."

Ian nodded as if he saw exactly what he was thinking and turned back to the window.

"Then really think it through." He paused. "There isn't room for screw-ups." Dave didn't reply, only turned away from him and sat back on the bed. Ian guessed he was going to keep checking their supplies, which was fine, because it gave him time to think.

He stared out the window, watching the spot where the cars had come and gone. He didn't know what to make of it, whether he should consider it a fortunate event or not; that's if the cars were even from Jack's camp. There was just something he couldn't pin down, some feeling he was having in the pit of his stomach.

In truth, deep down inside of him, it was slowly becoming apparent that he had come at Dave from the wrong angle. Trying to use him as if he was some kind of pawn? It wouldn't work, and it shouldn't. Dave's power was, at the very least, amazing, and it shouldn't be wasted like Ian had originally planned. What if he was killed? Then every ounce of potential would be wasted, and Ian wasn't dumb enough to miss how wrong that was.

What if Dave was the solution to this whole undead problem? If he could control them, what was stopping him from driving them away and protecting the rest of world? Ian's entire plan had been poorly thought out and stupid, very stupid. He wished he had never told Dave that his friends were with Jack.

Then again, he kind of glad he did. He knew what it was like, losing friends and not being able to do anything about it. It had happened plenty of times both when he was younger and when he was in jail. People slipped away from you, or they were taken from you, and he had enough of his fair share of it all.

A long time ago, two years if he remembered right, a man had told him that everything comes back around to get you in the end. Of course, Ian hadn't thought much about it, instead demanding the man's wallet once again and then taking off when he finally got it. But now, he had trouble ignoring the truth in the man's words. That had been the last time he wanted to take someone else's money. By that time, he had picked up another job after being fired from his old one, this time working as a bus boy at a local restaurant. It wasn't the most prestigious work of course, but he wasn't like many of the others in his neighborhood, choosing to instead collect unemployment instead of searching for another job. But of course, he had been younger, and youth doesn't come with wisdom.

That night, he had been celebrating getting hired with a group he had just recently begun hanging around with. He had been happy about getting back to work, excited that he could begin making money again when he pulled into that station, the fuel in his car running low. He had planned on using his very first paycheck to fill it back up.

"Why don't you just take it?" The words run through the car, his hand barely on the handle of the door. "Just take it." The voice wasn't from one of his friends, it came from a man younger than him, a boy almost, that had tagged along. Sitting in the backseat, surrounded by those Ian knew, he had sucked a lot of the celebration from the car the entire night, his words often harsh and criticizing. But his friends hadn't said anything, as if his words didn't actually mean anything, and they paid more attention to him than they did Ian, who had offered to take them along in the first place. Ian hadn't liked him, an uneasy feeling filling the pit of his stomach everytime the boy laughed, or smiled, or uttered another insult at some passerby, and he especially didn't like what he was suggesting now, but he had no choice in the matter. Peer pressure is a powerful thing.

A stupid decision. Ian knew it was stupid even then, but he relented anyway. As he moved to retrieve the knife used only for occasions such as this, the boy produced a gun from his waist, and offered that instead. Ian had never handled one in his life, rarely even seen them except for on television, but he had always wanted one, and the power that he felt when he laid his hands around the rubber grip, well worn with use, was amazing. He didn't question what would happen if he actually used it, never wondered at the damage it could cause, and instead tucked it away and got out of the car.

They would be waiting for him. They would gas up the car and then they would be off as soon as he came out of the store, and this would be the last time he ever stole or threatened anyone again.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, damp from nervousness. He had never handled a firearm before, and the weight sagged his pants. It had to be obvious, but, as he walked across the black pavement, he saw that there was only two other vehicles parking in the lot. This would be easy, just like all the other times.

He strode into the store, saw that there was still another customer making a purchase, and sauntered towards the back to wait for him to leave. It was a classic tactic, one that the cashier probably noticed. The old man behind the counter watched him like a hawk, almost knowingly as he faked interest in the sodas and snacks. When the other person had left, Ian picked up two bottles of Coke and walked his way towards the counter.

"That'll be two dollars and eighty-five for the drinks." The old man said. Then, looking to the pumps, "And another ten if you're the Saturn out on pump four." Ian hesitated for a moment, and then moved for his wallet where the remaining forty dollars waited for him. He could just pay and be done with it. But they would laugh at him, and that boy and that smile...

His fingers brushed the smooth leather of his wallet. But they would laugh...

He gripped the handle of the pistol and tore it free, pointing it at the old man.

"Give me everything in the register!" He shouted, aiming the weapon, just as a police officer stepped through the doors of the store.  
In the split-second of total silence it took for the officer to realize what was going on, Ian heard the squealing tires of his Saturn as it tore out of the parking lot.

His friends got a free tank of gas and his car for the night before dumping it in a ditch near some train tracks. Ian got ten years for armed robbery. Everything comes back to get you in the end.

In his sentencing, the judge had been harsh, reminding him that the consequences of robbery were severe, and that he didn't understand what might have occurred if the gun had ever actually been loaded. He could only hang his head in shame. They never found his friends, or the boy who had supplied the weapon. The car had been wiped clean of prints.

Since then, he had tried to turn it all around, but in order to survive, you needed to adapt. In prison, he had joined a gang like all the others, fought to be left alone, and ultimately survived. Religion had helped in the beginning, but when he found that it didn't satisfy him like he imagined, he threw it all away. It didn't allow him to stand on his own. Now that he was in prison, his life was practically ruined. His job, once they found that he was arrested and for what, had fired him, unsurprisingly. He was forced to pick up the pieces of his life and move on.

Then the dead rose, and he found himself suddenly free again, at least from his physical constraints. He should have felt free like all the others as they stole what they wanted and hurt those who got in the way, but he didn't. He stuck with the group of prisoners because as the world died at his feet, it seemed to be the only refuge. Going off on your own meant death, and suddenly, the rules didn't seem to differ from those in the prison,. Numbers were strength, power the only way to survive. So, he chose what seemed like the best choice.

He followed the group, doing enough to fit in, but never going so far as to hurt anyone. Then they ambushed Dave's group, killing and taking whatever they wanted, It hadn't been Ian's choice, but it felt like it might as well had. he should have known it would come to it, he was travelling with violent people, but he ignored the signs. If it hadn't been for Jack, it might have never even happened, but it did, and Ian was coming to terms with how selfish he had been recently, wanting to take advantage of Dave for his own ends.

You get what's coming to you, and Ian wasn't going to make the same mistakes again. After all his years of stealing and hurting people. the time he spent in prison, he was sick of doing what others told him. All his life, he had never accomplished anything. Well, that was going to change if he could help it, and he was going to start with Dave.

He turned back to the man, chancing a glance, and saw that he was still busy with taking stock of what they had. Steadily, deliberately, Ian moved from his place on the window and began planning.


	17. A Plan in Motion

The wind whipped his hair, and he felt great. That feeling was back: freedom. He was free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and if felt great. He never wanted this to go away. Never.

Jack gave a calculating smile and tapped the driver's shoulder as a signal for him to move. The car took off. There was work to do, and it would be dark soon.

* * *

They began not long after. Dave left, Clemens in tow, and started his search for the "recruits" they would need to get the job done, and Ian stayed back at the home. They couldn't risk his life while out gathering the rest of the zombies, and he hadn't argued with the decision. He could stay behind while Dave went forward; he just had to hope Jack or one of his goons didn't come knocking.

So once again that left Dave alone with the undead. Even after securing another human as a partner, it seemed as though he was destined to walk with only the dead. Even so, it was necessary now, and as soon as it was over he would probably never have to be with them again. That was a day he looked forward to.

Slowly, steadily, he and Clemens tracked their way back towards the suburbia they had left behind earlier. Through the winding roads, he was reacquainted with the silence he thought he had left behind. Clemens didn't say much, choosing to instead follow him quietly, the only sound being his shoes as they scraped the pavement. He was moving stiffly, Dave eventually noticed; rigor mortis was perhaps catching up with him finally. At least some of the process that was death still retained its normalcy. Somehow, that made him feel a little bit better.

In almost no time at all, they reached their destination. Dave hadn't realized how quickly he was walking, and was surprised that he didn't feel tired in the least. In fact, he didn't really feel anything that would give away how out of shape he was. His legs were no longer tired, even though he had been doing nothing but walking the past several days, and he felt as alert as ever. In fact, the only semblance of physical pain he felt was his neck. It was still a bit stiff, though he could almost feel it disappearing. The memory of the wound hurt more than it did now. He placed his hand over where the bullet had entered. He had given up on bandaging it. The bleeding stopped quickly and besides, it almost didn't seem serious enough to merit any kind of bandaging. It was apparently not as bad as he had originally thought. Could a gunshot not be serious?

Clemens gave a soft wheeze and Dave turned his head. From the porch of a nearby home, two straggling zombies caught sight of him and began their strenuous journey to where he was. They too were moving slowly, and he wondered if this was going to make everything that much more difficult.

He continued his tour through the neighborhood, picking up a few of the undead here and there but could feel something close to concern beginning to creep up. There was considerably less here than he had planned, but that figured. Whenever he wanted humans, he got zombies, and whenever he wanted zombies, he got nothing, of course.

Through another rough half an hour or so though, he found that he had been proven thoroughly wrong. Investigating a nearby car alarm had brought him face to face with a crowd of them. Coincidentally, they were already moving in his direction, and they seemed to instantly join the small group he had going. It was easy enough it seemed, so he shrugged at the amount he had already managed to collect and began to move again; only finding that it was now more difficult. They gathered around him, pressing against each other to get close to him, and he quickly became frustrated at the center of a writhing mass of dead bodies.

"Get away from me!" He shouted once it had become too much. They stunk and it made him gag. The fact that they were trying to crowd him made it that much worse. But at his words, the space around him widened as the closest took a few steps back. Ignoring the almost painful sensation that ran through his head, he focused on keeping them away from him. Soon, the circle widened, and the smell got a little more bearable. He took a deep breath, choking back the urge to vomit, and began walking again. The circle around him stayed where it was as the group made its way down the street, Dave at the very center. It almost provided him with a sense of comfort. At least now if someone decided to take a few pot shots at the group, there was less of a chance for him to get hit.

But with that advantage, there was the sharp notion that he couldn't orient himself very well. Without being able to see his surroundings, Dave was left reading the street signs that he could get close enough to, and since he wasn't from the area, that didn't do him very much good either. He pulled the map from his pocket, the one he snagged off the men who had tried to bully him in front of the grocery store, and spread it out over the hood of a nearby car. He made sure that no zombie got close enough to him as he read, though he couldn't help but notice Clemens looming close by.

As he traced a finger through the neighborhoods, he both watched and heard as the zombie inched his way closer. It wasn't hard to notice, Clemens was a lot noisier than he had been earlier, and Dave eyed him on his peripherals. When Dave finally found his location on the paper, Clemens was standing directly beside him. He allowed it.

His finger followed another series of lines, making their way across a mile of streets until he found the nearby interstate. He still had supplies sitting in the trunk of the car, though not much. Still, it was enough to last them for a couple more days. There was also some spare ammunition as well. Now that he knew roughly where he was, it was time to collect the rest of his things. He just had to figure out the right exit to walk towards.

He narrowed it down to two likely choices and folded the map back up, storing it in his pocket. He had a walk ahead of him, especially if he chose the wrong one. For a moment, he let a smile grace his lips. He almost didn't mind the prospect.

* * *

Ian sat holding a can of vegetables, spinning it in his hands. His mind was rushing, not intending to stop on any one subject for too long so he could focus. It was beginning to frustrate him. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he was so nervous. It wasn't a bad feeling per say, but it was definitely bugging him. He couldn't figure it out.

He stood up, intending to do something but not knowing what, and then sat back down again. It was better to make as little noise as possible, and who knows what was lurking around the house now that Dave had gone. Without him, Ian suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. He was no longer near the hand that could guide the undead to and fro or control their behavior; that could save him if he got in trouble. If he wasn't careful, the house could get surrounded.

He was alone right now. He never realized how dangerous that was. Jack could be in the area and decide to root through this house, finding him. There was a reason no one really messed with Jack both in and out of the prison; double murder of your own family wasn't something to scoff at. Ian hoped he wouldn't have to face him in the coming hours.

But for now, he resolved to put all of it aside, choosing to instead somehow focus on the now. They needed a way into Jack's camp, and he was going to find one before nightfall. So, he began plotting, all the while wondering if the noise he could swear he was hearing was just the branch of a tree scraping against the home or something else entirely.

* * *

Dave looked at the new watch on his wrist. Well, maybe new wasn't the word, considering it was stained with the blood of the previous owner, but it was a welcome addition nothing less. He wiped away a few more bits of gore, knowing that he shouldn't have done such a thing as loot the dead. He wasn't any kind of superstitious, but it still felt wrong, and he hoped the zombie would forgive him if it could.

Focusing on the road ahead, at least from what he could see of it since he was the nucleus of a zombie cell, he assumed that he was close to his destination. Of course, he could get there a lot sooner if not for the mass of undead surrounding him. In such a short while, he had collected so many more that he could no longer keep track of their numbers. In truth, his group probably looked more like a small army.

And he could no longer adequately control them either. He had enough in him to keep them out of his personal space, but didn't bother with anything more complex, not knowing if he even could. Now, as he passed a few cars that were wrecked on the side of the road, he wondered just how complex of an order he could give. Did it matter that they appeared to have no intelligence? Did it mean they wouldn't understand?

It didn't matter, he decided. He couldn't continue travelling like this. The dead were like an ocean, a huge rolling mass that flowed past objects that got in their way. The only reason Dave had spotted the cars was because he had walked close enough to notice the dead part to pass it by, leaving him a glimpse of bumper and taillight.

He looked to his right, past where Clemens was trying to meet his stride, and to a zombie in a bloodied and torn track suit. In seemingly good shape, the zombie now staggered and moaned, its eyes trying to focus on something not quite there. Then it caught site of Dave, and its eyes found a new intensity.

It changed course to intercept him and he let it, until it was almost a few feet from him. He decided to try out the limits of his ability.

"Stop." Dave commanded experimentally. He wondered if voicing what he wanted produced a better result. The zombie followed what Dave wanted it to do, but not how he expected.

The track zombie stopped, literally, in its tracks and fell to the ground. A few close by also stumbled, as if affected by the order, and the circle around him broke. Zombies closed in.

For a moment, he was struck dumb by what was happening, and then he released an exasperated laugh, and then gagged from the sudden increase of rot.

"Back!" He ordered, gagging. He put a hand to his head where it hurt. "Go back!" They did what he wanted, leaving him about the same amount of space as they had last time.

When the ache was more manageable and the smell less debilitating, he took a deep breath, and started again. He was intent on finding the boundaries of his power, even if it subjected him to this. He wanted to know what he was capable of.

Looking around again, he couldn't see the track zombie anymore and was forced to find another subject. This time, he eyed one to his left. It must have been a worker from a local restaurant, the uniform it had on advertising some kind of diner. Ignoring the heavy fact that only a couple of days ago, that diner had probably been successful serving food to living patrons, he continued and ignored the uncaring groans of his hungry stomach.

This time when he gave the order, he made sure to focus on only that particular zombie, and when he saw that the rest of the crowd began to move closer to him, he added that they should also continue as they were, and they fell back into step. Now confident, he ignored the dull thumping in his head and tried to find something to prove his control over it.

"Raise your right arm." The zombie did so, and stopped walking as well. He sighed, rolling his eyes and not stopping to let the zombie get back up. It had to be so difficult.

He chose another after this, and repeated the order, this time including that the circle around him should stay where it was, and that the zombie in question should not stop walking. Finally, after all of this, he got the results he was looking for. A zombie has successfully raised its arm according to his will.

"Boy," he said, shaking his head, "We've got a long way to go."


	18. Early Warnings

Everyone who reads: Thank you.

* * *

Early Warnings

There was a sharp retort, so sudden that at first Dave didn't know what it was. Then he knew; it was gunfire.

He and his mob had just arrived at the first place Dave thought his car would be sitting. It wasn't there, he apparently having chosen the wrong spot, and now he turned his head to the fading sound, his mouth open. Are people still moving through this area? More importantly, were they in trouble?

He looked around to the mob and saw a few begin wandering off towards the rough direction the sound came from. He quickly 'grabbed' them through his mind and forced them back at the expense of his personal space. He couldn't let them get near anyone alive. With this many around him, there was no chance he could control them all, and that meant bad news for anyone uninfected.

Another sharp _crack_, and he narrowed it down to being roughly north of his position, judging by the map he still had folded out. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from since everything seemed to bounce off the homes, but that seemed the best guess. His finger followed the line of interstate in that direction until it landed on the second place his car could be and he felt his heart quicken. If there were people still around, they might have just found his car. If they found his car, they found his food, his weapons, and the zombies still stuck inside. That would explain the gunfire.

He folded the map up and placed it in his pocket again. He would have to hurry if he wanted any chance of catching them. First though, the zombies had to be dealt with. As he looked around, he could see the fringes of the group beginning to break off, even as he struggled to control them. They were too interested in the sound of whatever gun had gone off to be bothered with following him anymore. He would not have that.

So, he thought quickly. He needed a place to store them, at least until he could come back and get them again. As he looked around, he felt an idea pop into his head. The homes in this area all seemed equipped with fences. Some were just small, waist-high chain link but he had seen several with fairly high security fencing. He jogged back to the closest home he remembered having it, wondering if it could work. He didn't bother seeing if he could climb it, knowing that the undead around him didn't have that kind of dexterity, and instead focused on the gating. It was a simple latch, but he figured if they didn't see anything interesting, they probably wouldn't bother trying to get out. He hoped he was right.

Another gunshot sounded, and he began forcing the majority of the horde inside the fencing. He both used his powers and his hands to shove them inside as quickly as he could. That time it was closer than before. Were they moving towards him?

He allowed a few stragglers, no more than five or six including Clemens, to linger outside. A small group he could handle confidently, and as he latched the rest inside the fence, he turned to face them. They huddled close, their bodies beginning to stink of rot, and he 'pushed' them away. He didn't want them to stain his clothing with the chance of meeting living people. It would be unfortunate at the very least for them to mistake him as a zombie.

After latching the gate, he unslung his rifle and headed back to the interstate. He would follow that, at least until he came upon his car. If he didn't run into anyone, then that was that. If he did, then he could always see about helping out or something, anything just to show he was alive with them. As he paced down the street, he made sure the zombies behind him stayed behind him a good distance away. If he spotted anyone alive first, he would have time to hide the zombies.

After another _crack_, Dave picked up his pace, the rifle becoming increasingly heavy in his hands. There weren't more than two or three zombies in the car when he and Ian had left it. They couldn't be that bad of a shot.

He passed an abandoned vehicle, all of its doors hanging open and luggage strewn around it. He jogged by a house that had its front door smashed in, dents and blood marking the wood. On his right, in the bushes, half of a body lay strewn about and he turned his head away. Behind him, the zombies followed.

Would he get used to all of this?

Up ahead, he saw a zombie stagger out of a side yard. He continued by it, not paying it any attention when it raised its arms to greet him. Then he passed another, and then two more. By the time he reached the familiar on ramp, he last counted around twenty of them, all limped and jogging in the same direction: towards his car.

He pushed a few of them away so he could get a better look at the vehicle. It looked about the same as last time with its smashed front end, but now the doors lay open. In the back seats, the bodies of a few undead lie still, truly dead this time. Dave moved to the trunk. It had been opened, and the few remaining bags of supplies and the rifles were missing. He frowned, guessing he shouldn't have been holding his breath. He could only hope whoever had taken them truly needed the help. He would probably never find them.

He closed the lid and pushed a zombie out of the way so he could walk, pulling his shirt up to his nose again. They all stunk so badly and that was really made obvious when they tried to crowd him like this. He pushed them all away, once more parting the ocean of dead before him. Clemens was the only one to get close to him, though even he responded by taking a few steps back. Dave nodded his head as if agreeing with the zombie's decision. It was better if they all did as he said. He didn't want to think about what could happen if he lost control.

Making the circle around him just a little larger, Dave took a deep breath, ignoring the urge to cough as he did so. He guessed whoever took his supplies were long gone by now, and he hoped they made it to wherever they were headed. He knew firsthand how plans could fall apart, and he thought back to his own. He wondered if his friends ever made it.

He shook his head. It wasn't good to think like that. Of course they made it. There was no way they _couldn't_ have made it. Michael wouldn't allow his wife to stay anywhere dangerous if he had a say in the matter. No, the more and more he thought about it the more he became certain. They were surely somewhere safe, perhaps in that cabin Paul had talked about and that they had all based their plans around. He convinced himself this was the case.

Up above, the sun reached its highest point in the sky, and began its slow descent downwards.

An hour later, David found himself digging through homes, searching for food. If he guessed right, there probably wouldn't be any left once he got back. Ian could have what was left in the trash bags, he was going to scrounge what he could now that he had the chance.

He opened a cupboard and grabbed at a box of cereal that had been left behind. Dipping his hand into the box, he ate the handful and then left it on the counter so he could continue searching. A few more miscellaneous cans that weren't of any real value and an old jar of peanut butter later, he was ready to call it quits for this home. The lack of food was really getting at him, especially after missing the chance to meet up with fellow survivors, and he felt his stomach rumble. There had to be something left somewhere.

He left the home and walked next door, the dozen or so zombies that he had allowed to follow him trailing behind to wait outside. He wouldn't let them inside, not when he was searching for food. He didn't want them touching anything.

More fridges were opened, shelves were rifled through, and he managed to grab up a few bags of frozen vegetables and some left over pork chops someone had left seemingly just for him. He threw the chops inside the microwave and set the burner on the stove to the right setting. Thankfully, electricity, gas, nor water was out yet so he was able to fill a pot and set it to boil. He was going to eat a half decent meal if it killed him.

As he waited for the water to come to a boil, he made his way back outside, placing his rifle by the door. It wouldn't kill him to be without it for a few minutes and it felt good to be without it, if only because it was less for him to carry. Now that he was on his way back, he felt he would be holding that rifle for a while soon and he relished any time he got without it.

He didn't bother with the map; he knew he was only a few miles from where Ian should still be waiting for him. From here, it was just a straight beeline back with the group he had collected, and it was this group that waited for him when he stepped out on the porch.

They stayed a respectful distance away from him, except for Clemens of course, but he wouldn't let it bother him. Instead, he focused on his meal cooking inside. He couldn't wait for it, and neither could his stomach, and it was this hunger that almost made him miss the sounds of car engines.

He snapped out of his daze and turned his head to the sound, trying to find where it was coming from. The zombies, too, turned what was left of their ears to investigate. Dave pushed them to the side of the house and moved out into the street himself. There was no way whoever had grabbed his supplies were still in the area. Why would they be?

Then he remembered there was a chance that a group from Jack's camp was out here.

Dave turned to get his rifle just as another shot pierced the air. He instinctively jerked his head to meet it, knowing now that it was coming from very close by. The engines were getting louder as well, and after snatching his weapon, he focused on getting the zombies inside. They had been scrambling to find out just how close these living humans really were.

He shoved and pushed and fought most of them inside when he practically felt the cars turn the corner onto his street. There was no time for him to get inside, so he slammed the door instead. When he turned around, he watched the last three or four zombies that were still outside stagger towards the street until their heads jerked from the sudden impact of the bullets. Then they crumpled to the ground.

The first car passed right by him without stopping, and Dave felt a chill run through him. The second car slowed, but the third car jammed its brakes. They were the same cars that had passed by the house earlier.

"Hey, buddy!" One of the men inside called out, leaning out of the window. "Nice gun you got there!"

"Why don't you come over here?" Another added, opening his door to get out. Dave felt fists on the door behind him.

"Go!" He shouted, trying to get them to leave. "I don't have anything you want."

"We just want to talk, buddy." The one getting out of the car said. He had his own rifle, but he held a handgun now. "Come over here."

"Go away." Dave said more sternly. The man cracked a smile.

"Right," he turned his head to shout. "Jack!"

He didn't know what pulsed through him right then, whether it was the fear that panicked him or the adrenaline, but at hearing that name, Dave raised his rifle and fired at the man standing before him.

The man crumbled without another word, the air sucked from his lungs as he hit the ground, wounded or outright dead. At the same time, Dave turned and threw the door open, shoving aside the zombies that were trying to get out so he could get in. It was these zombies who shielded him from the barrage of bullets that shredded the front of the home.

He raced to the stairs that would give him a better vantage point, and then he faltered. Should he stay and fight? Would he die if he tried? He moved towards the backdoor and stopped again. Was there any way he could save the food? He shook his head clear. He needed to get out now and survive. These were Jack's men and they were right behind him.

He threw the back door open and emerged into the yard. Out front, over the gunshots, he heard the cars start to move, as well as a few voices yelling over the sound of the undead. Now that they finally had their prey in sight, they were making it no secret that they were hungry. He could hear them over the guns.

Making for the alley behind the home, Dave heard the sound of glass breaking and turned to watch the house catch fire. He guessed someone had used a Molotov cocktail to try and stem the small horde unleashes from within. Damn, all of that work for it to go up in flames.

He turned to leave and caught movement in the corner of his eye. Clemens exited the back door of the home and raised his arms.

"Well come on then." The zombie caught up and together they both made for the end of the alley.

He forced Clemens to stay behind so he could poke his head around to see if it was clear. They were moving in the right direction, but Jack's men were probably doing the same, trying to get back to their camp.

When he saw that there wasn't any immediate danger, he turned to motion Clemens forward and nearly had a heart attack when another zombie stepped out of the bushes.

"Fucking zombies." He glared, burning holes into the dead flesh. He had just nearly been shot, he didn't need to die of fright.

He continued forward and his rifle rose towards the direction of the burning home to cover his back. He made across the street without a problem. From there, he didn't see any of the cars, but he could see the dead walking. Some were on fire, their hands raised as if praying for rain, and others just lying on the street. He wondered if any of Jack's men were among the group.

Turning away, he began jogging, partly to conserve his energy and partly to allow the slowly climbing numbers of undead to adequately follow him. They were coming out of the woodwork now, probably from all of the excitement, and the group behind him was probably larger than the one he had before. He tried to be grateful.

He still couldn't even believe what had just happened. That came out of nowhere. What were the odds of Jack passing by his house? What were the odds that he would be outside when it happened? He swore. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty. Had he the chance to go back, he would have waited for Jack to show himself before shooting.

He shook his head. There was no use in wishing now; it was a time for action. He checked his gear and swapped out for a fresher magazine. A few shots could make all the difference and he would need all he could get for what was coming. Without thinking about it, he walked a couple zombies out in front of him. Now if anyone wanted to shoot, they could shoot the undead and do them both a favor. At least he would have time to duck out of the way this time.

Behind him, the fire caught and smoke drifted into the air.

* * *

"What the hell happened?" Ian asked when catching sight of Dave.

"Did you see them come by here?" The horde that grew to follow him impatiently waited outside. Maybe it was something in the air or the fact that he was shaken up himself, but they wouldn't settle. Dave had barely given himself enough room to squeeze inside before firmly shutting and bolting the door. On the other side, he heard the prying hands of the dead.

"What's going on?" They made their way upstairs. "Those cars went racing through here about a half hour ago." Reaching the top, Dave dumped his rifle on the bed and made for the trash bag still lying on the floor.

"Is there any food left?" He rifled through it.

"David!" Ian shouted, grabbing ahold of his shoulders. "What's going on?" He looked the younger man in the eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, right," he replied, running a hand over his face. He was just so hungry. "I guess I should start from the beginning."

And he did just that, recanting the tale of his little adventure with the taken supplies, and followed up with why he was so shaken now.

"You fucking shot them?"

"I had no choice!" Dave replied, throwing his arms up. "I panicked, I guess." He looked Ian straight in the eyes. "They were going to kill me. You didn't see them, what they looked like." He saw Ian shrug his shoulders.

"I guess it doesn't matter now. That's one less to deal with."

Dave found himself nodding in agreement.

"I mean, we are we still doing this, right?" Ian asked, his hand on the sling holding his rifle. Dave didn't even give himself enough time to doubt it.

"Get ready." He grabbed his own weapon. "We're going now."


	19. the Assault

the Assault

As it turns out, they did have to wait a little longer. From their vantage point on the same hill they had occupied before, they could see the camp was still abuzz with activity. Men moved from building to building with a purpose. Behind him, zombies shifted in their places, a crew of actors ready for the draw of the curtain. They wouldn't have to wait for long. The sun was setting fast behind a cover of heavy clouds. Already, it was difficult to see into the camp, but as soon as it was dark enough, as soon as Ian returned with something to cut the gates with, that's when it would begin.

Dave found the adrenaline still pumping through him, heard the voice from the back of his mind shouting for him to reconsider, and ignored it. He focused on the men in front of him, on the other side of those gates. In just a little while, they might all be dead.

He heard (and felt) the zombies shift from behind him. They turned towards the sound of footsteps. He turned his head to see Ian pushing through some brush.

"I got it."

The younger man gave a wide berth to the dead nearby. They were staring at him.

"What did you find?" Dave asked before he even sat down.

"I ran through some of the sheds in the neighborhood." He produced a pair of manual hedge clippers. "I found this." Dave grumbled his approval. They weren't bolt cutters or anything fancy, but they should work. All they needed was a hole in the fence. Then they could do what they needed to do.

After a moment of observation, Ian turned back to Dave.

"Where are the rest of them?" He was talking about the zombies.

"I sent a few of them down there in a different direction." It was all the better if they were distracted from all sides than concentrated at a single point. Dave wanted them to panic, just like he had done at their hands. He was tired of dealing with them. He wanted them to fear for _their_ lives for once, just like the prisoners they kept hidden inside one of those buildings. He'd had enough of them.

"I can barely see the camp." Ian remarked. From somewhere overhead, thunder rolled, and when he turned his head to see his companion, Dave had already gone.

* * *

He moved carefully through the darkness, avoiding patches of leaves or the limbs from trees. On his shoulder was the rifle, in his hands the clippers. From somewhere on the other side of the camp, his army marched.

A raindrop hit him in the face as he dropped into the dirt. The fence lay just twenty or so feet from him; a patch of metal that was warmed less by the gaze of the guards than any other. Then the second raindrop splattered on a leaf.

Up above, a crack of thunder opened the floodgates, and it began to pour.

* * *

"Did you see that?" The guard pointed at something beyond the gate.

"Fuck off; I'm miserable enough without having to put up with your shit." The other guard made to head inside where they could at least be dry.

"No." The other responded, grabbing the coat of his friend to keep him there. "Shine your light over there." They were both drenched already, and wanted nothing more than to head back.

The other swore but flicked on his light and pointed it at the front gate. The ray of light revealed little, the rain and night forcing the beam to retreat. There was nothing.

"Happy?" He turned to walk away. "Now let's get out of the rain." But his friend wasn't convinced.

"Do it one more time." The irritated guard growled his frustration.

"There's nothing fucking out there!" He waved the light across the fence as the first of the dead slammed their bodies against the metal.

Then the shooting started.

* * *

"Dave!" Ian chased after the man, his vision impaired by the weather. "Dave?" He called but got no answer. As he slid down the slope of the hill, he wished he had a rain coat.

When he reached the bottom, he ducked under a tree for cover from the downpour. Without some sort of light, he couldn't see a thing. That's when something darted out of the brush in front of him. Almost crying out in fright, Ian managed to contain himself enough to see that it was Dave, running towards the fencing.

The excitement pushing him forward, he chased after the older man, catching up once they both reached the fence. From the other end of the camp, they heard rifles clatter and men shouting. The cones from their flashlights lit up the darkness.

"Don't just fucking run off like that." Ian heaved from the exertion. Dave barely seemed to be breathing at all. Already, he was clicking the clippers together, breaking the rings that separated them from the other side.

"You don't even know what building they're in!" Ian continued, pausing only to check their surroundings. So far, they hadn't seen anyone else. The distraction was working.

"Doesn't matter." Dave threw the clippers away and grabbed the fence with his bare hands, ripping it away. He paused only a moment longer in order to allow a zombie through the opening first. It was Clemens. He hadn't allowed him to participate in the main assault.

The dead man stumbled through the opening, and then Dave and Ian followed, sticking with the darkness for cover. Close by, a battle was raging. There was no way they were going to get stuck in the middle of it.

Through the rain, the three of them slinked through the camp unseen. They made it past open ground and pushed themselves against the wall of the closest barracks for cover. It was the first in a large semi-circle. Slowly, quietly, they began to check each one for what they were looking for.

Ian drew his hand across his neck, the sign that no one was inside this particular building, and they continued on to the next. Ian knew the barracks at the very center, one of the only ones with its lights on, had what Dave was after, but he was forced to watch as they checked each and every single one leading up to that. Dave left no stone unturned.

When they were finally two buildings away from the center, they could clearly see two sentries standing watch outside its doors, underneath the exterior lights. Ian struggled to find a way to get rid of them without alerting anyone else, and then he looked out to the rain and darkness. There was probably a good chance no one would hear them over the gunfire, but before he could act, Dave put a hand on his shoulder to still him.

"What are you going to do?" Ian asked. Dave didn't seem like much of a killer. Did he have a plan? But before he could get an answer, the older man had already slipped away into the rain, Clemens following close behind.

So, as if he had much of a choice, he sat and waited. From his position at the corner of one of the buildings, he could clearly see the two as they idly stood by. He wondered who they were. From the distance, he couldn't really recognize their faces. Would it be one of his old prison-mates? Then he went back to wondering what Dave would do to get them to move.

Another minute went by and it felt like forever. With the firing still going on nearby, Ian's nerves were on edge. He really didn't want to get shot. If those things managed to get through the gates… But he doubted that would happen. Jack was a good shot from what he could tell. If anything, that man was probably on the front line, blasting away as he saw fit.

Another long moment passed when finally one of the guards shifted to his right. Looking as if he heard a noise, the man raised his rifle cautiously. He motioned for his friend's attention before they began moving out of the light. But before they could even take another step, the first guard snapped back, a spray of blood coating the wall behind him. The second sentry moved to take cover but fell mid-step. He hadn't even lived to meet the ground, dead from the rounds that smashed into his shoulders and chest. It had all taken less than three seconds, and Ian felt a chill run down his back. He hadn't even heard the shots over the thunder.

Then, before he could get up from where he was sitting, what had to be Clemens lurched around the corner and fell upon one of the bodies. Ian flinched. The first guard had lived through the shooting. His screams could be heard through even the loudest gunshot.

As Clemens feasted, he could see Dave then, moving from the cover of darkness he had used to take the two out. They both ran towards the entrance, Dave ushering the zombie away and out of the spot light so they wouldn't draw attention. Dave and Ian exchanged looks for a moment, and then the older man prepared to enter the building. This was it.

With adrenaline rushing through his system anew, the Dave grabbed the handle of the door and pushed. The door slammed open, and before he knew what happened, he was on the floor of the barracks.

"Kill him!"

Someone had sucker punched him on entry.

"Take his gun!"

He felt a swift kick connect with his chest and it knocked the air out of him. He was turned over on his back and punched in the face.

"Wait!" He heard a familiar face. "Stop!" The yelling died down and he felt something lifted from his chest; someone had been pinning him to the floor.

He opened his eyes and turned his head. In the crowd, he saw someone pushing through to get to him. When the last person was moved aside, he spotted Natalie.

"Dave?" She dropped to her knees beside him and helped him sit up. "Are you okay?" The noise started up again.

"You know him?"

"What's going on out there?"

Dave's hand swept the floor for his rifle but couldn't find it. He looked up from Natalie and saw a young man carrying it. He wanted his rifle back.

"Give me my gun." He ordered. No one listened to him, instead they asked him questions. Some paced around anxiously. They were dirty and excited, but most of all they were scared.

"Who else is out there?" The young man holding Dave's rifle asked. Ian made sure the entrance was closed and secured before turning back to them.

"We're it." He replied, holding his arms out. "We're getting you out of here."

"What do you mean you're it?" Someone asked. Outside, the gunfire slackened.

"Give me back my gun." Dave said once more. He could understand what they were feeling, but they needed to listen.

"We're going to get you guys out of here, don't worry." Ian was met with more questions, and Dave struggled to his feet with Natalie's help.

"How did you get in here?" She asked, looking up to him. Her face was unwashed and bruised. Had someone hit her?

He took a deep breath, and simply shook his head. He would tell her how he managed to get inside, how he prepared and almost got killed in the process. He would tell her everything, but not now. There wasn't any time. If they wanted to escape, they were going to have to move now. The ruse wouldn't last long unless those zombies managed to break through, and even then Dave wanted everyone to be out of here before that had a chance to happen.

"Later." She frowned at him, but he ignored it and stepped away from her. He still needed his weapon. Making to simply take it right out of the hands of the man, he was three steps away when he stopped; everyone stopped. Outside, the only sound was the steady pattering of rain. The gunfire had ceased.

Then the doors of the barracks burst open, and Jack stepped inside. He had a smile on his face.

"I'm pleased to announce…" His sentence died out about halfway through as he caught sight of the scene in front of him. Jack was confused. These people have never been so up and about since first arriving here. A familiar snarl returned to his face as he realized they must have been up to somethi- and did that one have a gun?

Before anyone could react, Jack raised his sidearm and shot the young man holding the rifle. The crowd scattered as the man fell, the rifle clattering to the floor right behind him. Ian, quite aware that he couldn't be recognized, slipped away into the back corner unnoticed. The only one left in the center of the floor was Dave, rooted to the spot. He couldn't get his legs to move. He was fighting to go with the crowd, to the very back and away from this man holding the gun. As he stood there, several ex-prisoners rushed to Jack's side, alerted to the gunfire.

"Holy shit," one of them gasped and pointed straight at Dave, "I've seen him before!"

The plan was lost, done for, FUBAR. A million adjectives ran through this head but he couldn't think of a single thing that would get him out of this situation. His heart raced, his legs turned to jelly, and he was sure he wasn't breathing. The man who had given him so much trouble, kidnapped innocent people and indirectly claimed responsibility for almost killing him three or so times stood right in front of him and he was totally helpless.

"He charged right into a group of those things." The one prisoner exclaimed. "He shot Kenny and then just disappeared behind a wall of them." Jack kept his pistol trained on Dave, listening and not believing.

"Lay off the drugs, Trav." He studied Dave a little closer. "Unless of course this is the same mystery guy that you-" He stopped, as if finally finding the piece that completed a puzzle.

"Get Andy!"

A voice from the darkness behind them,

"He's dead!"

Jack shrugged his shoulder and took another step closer. If Dave wanted to, he could reach out and touch the muzzle of the gun.

"You do look familiar." Back at the site of the ambush days before, Jack reviewed the line of people he had drawn out of their cars. There was an older man who was no longer with the group, two kids clinging to their mother, and a young couple being pulled apart by his men. He looked closer, trying to place this man's face- yes, he _did_ recognize this man. He had been at the end of the line. He had been in placed in that van where they overpowered whatshisface kid. He had been in the one vehicle that escaped.

Jack found himself smiling.

"I know you." There was a pause, and then he laughed. "Why would you come back?" There was a moment's pause as he waited for an answer, but when one didn't come, he turned serious. That attack by the dead-heads was too convenient. Had this man really gone through the trouble of corralling them all up and pushing them towards the camp as a distraction? And did that mean he had more people outside waiting to attack as well?

He motioned for one of the guards behind him to get a group together and scour the camp. If anyone else was here, they would be found.

"Who else is out there?" Jack asked, still pointing the gun. "How many?" Dave didn't answer, his mind had blanked. "Look," Jack continued, "I don't know who else you've got out there, but tell them to come out and I'll let them go."

Dave knew he was lying. He knew it the second he opened his mouth. Even if he _did_ have anyone else out there, there was no way Jack would just let them walk. No, there had to be a way out of this, a way to escape. He just needed a chan-

-Jack stepped forward and whipped the gun across Dave's face, sending him to his knees. The older man saw stars blink across his vision, and was his nose bleeding?  
"Tell me if they're out there!" Jack was angry. He didn't want any surprises. The zombies were enough to deal with. "How did those things end up at my front door?" He kicked Dave in the chest and sent him to the floor. The crowd watched on.

Still recovering from the blow to his face, Dave wiped away the blood trickling from his nose. He tried to get back up, but Jack pinned him with a foot.

"Tell me!" A few guards behind Jack were cheering their leader on. They were still excited from the earlier fighting, but Jack was just getting impatient. To speed things up, to give a little incentive for his guest to spill the beans, he kicked Dave again.

"Stop!" Someone from the crowd pleaded. "Please." They had seen enough to know what would happen if this continued. They also knew what Jack might do if they pleaded for mercy. But this man had risked his life to come back for them. They at least had to try.

"You want me to stop?" Jack put a stop to his abuse for the moment so he could gaze into the defiant crowd before him. "Stop?" Some nodded gingerly.

In response, Jack gave Dave another hard kick to the back. The guards behind him cheered again.

"Well since when have you been giving me the fucking orders?" His arms outstretched, he invited any response. When none came, he pointed the gun at Dave's head. "That's what I thought." He paused, nodding his head with content. "Step out of line again," he challenged, "step out again, and see what I do."

He didn't give them a chance to respond. Instead, he redirected his aim and fired, the bullet striking Dave in his calf. Previously still from the beating, the older man sprang up and grabbed his injured leg. Blood was slowly leaking out and the pain he felt was remarkable, like a jet of fire through his muscle. He grunted and ground his teeth.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Jack sneered, pointing the gun at the crowd now. "You know better than this." He laughed, "Hell, you probably put him up to it!" A few people were crying; some prayed. "After all I've done for you." He looked genuinely disappointed.

Down on the cold floor though, Dave was busy gripping his leg as Jack continued talking. He had to put pressure on the wound; apply pressure to stop the bleeding. It hurt, a lot, but it was almost manageable. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but for some reason it was as if this was a lot better than the _first_ time he had been shot. The pain was nowhere close to that, and even now, only a minute or so after the fact, he could almost feel the flow of blood slackening. Was that even possible? He found that he didn't really care.

He couldn't think straight about anything. What was he going to do? How could he escape? Could he? His mind was a mess, a jumble of fragments and emotion. What _could_ he do?

He wanted to cry out in frustration. As Jack stood above him, still waving the gun and talking, he could feel his anger and fear building. He wanted nothing more than to get out of here. Jack represented everything he hated. The man was a wall Dave couldn't get over.

He ground his forehead into the concrete in order to get his focus back. He needed to calm down, to breathe. He was still alive. His leg wasn't bleeding out. He just had to think. He came here to get these people out alive and he was going to do just that. There had to be a way to do it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at a bit of movement. Just past Jack, just past his two guards standing watch, he watched and saw it again. It was the body of one of the sentries he had killed earlier. It was stirring, moving to get up, and it was dead.

He couldn't get these people out quietly anymore; the alarm had already been raised. But, if he couldn't get around Jack, he would just have to go right through him. Without knowing it, he grinned.

"And just what the hell are you smiling about?" Jack asked, suddenly noticing. He dug the barrel of the weapon into Dave's head. "Things aren't looking good for you right now."

But it didn't matter to Dave, who watched the body slowly sit up, and then rise shakily to its feet. If the crowd behind them caught sight of it, they made no indication. Jack continued.

"I should wipe that stupid smile right off of your face." He waved the gun. "Should I shoot the other leg too?" But Dave couldn't take his eyes off the moving corpse as it weaved on its feet. As Jack continued to threaten him, he closed his eyes.

After everything he had said about them, all the hate and blame that he placed upon them, he realized how much he needed this zombie. He didn't ask for this gift, nor did he feel like he deserved it, but right now, as he felt a cold barrel against his face, he knew that he had to use it if he or anyone he cared about what going to get out of this alive.

His eyes opened, and he reached out to the dead man. He felt every muscle and ligament twist and pull, every twitch of its eyes as it locked onto the closest guard. He felt every step it made towards him. Then, as Jack was busy threatening him, he felt the zombie grab the guard and bite, sinking its teeth into the flesh around the neck. Dave tasted the blood.

Before Jack could even turn to see the cause of the screaming, Dave concentrated once again, pooling all of his energy into the dead man. He couldn't be caught on just this one guard. He had to move, to kill more. He couldn't lose the momentum.

He dropped the bloody guard and tackled the next before the man could react. Jack was turned around now. He aimed the gun. Dave was quicker, however. The zombie bit, scratched, and punched the next without giving Jack the time to sight the zombie. But now, as it was tearing into the second, Dave realized he had to act. Jack would surely kill this zombie and the two men it had bitten without hesitation. If he wanted out, if he wanted to get these people out, he was going to have to fight.

He reached out and, just as Jack squeezed his trigger, Dave gripped the man's legs and rolled.

The gun went off and rang their ears. Jack fell on his back, hard, and the zombie he was aiming at continued to tear the guard apart. The shot had missed.

When the sound returned to Dave's ears, he heard the man's desperate cries for help and the shouts that were being thrown at him from across the room. He thought it was more of Jack's men.

"Shoot him!"

"Get him!"

It was Natalie and the group. They were cheering him on. He could do this. He knew it. He just had to fight.

Dave's arm rushed out to pin Jack's gun to the floor, and received a kick to the chest for the effort. Struggling, he managed to get another hand on it, but he wasn't a fighter. Jack tugged the gun closer to his body and rolled away, forcing Dave to let go. To stop him from getting back to his feet, Dave jumped on the man's back.

He heard Jack heave and was tossed to the side. When he sat up, he was punched in the side of the face and sent back down to the floor. When he got back up again, he only got a glancing blow and was able to tackle Jack before he could shoot.

They both struggled and wrestled for control of the weapon, striking each other when they could. Dave managed to get an elbow in, and Jack's nose began to bleed; and eye for an eye. But Jack had experience. He was hitting Dave wherever he wanted to, and the older man was beginning to finally feel it.

But before it could be decided, someone else was suddenly in the fight. Both Jack and Dave turned their heads, distracted by this new threat, and met the face of a zombie.

Jack reacted first, by hastily throwing Dave to the side towards the zombie and then scuttling as far away as he could in the other direction. If the thing managed to take out Dave first, then he wouldn't complain. He would just mop up the rest and this would all be over.

But to his surprise the zombie didn't attack Dave at all. In fact, it actually pushed him to the side in order to get at Jack. Mystified, the ex-prisoner didn't have enough time to evade, and found himself locked in a struggle with a corpse.

Dave took the distraction. It was an opportunity to get to his feet and act. Where was that rifle? He spotted it near the body of the young man Jack had shot. Grabbing it, he looked at the guards that were killed by the very zombie Jack now struggled with behind him. It would only be a few minutes, he knew. They might be lying still now, but they would rise as well.

But before that could happen, Dave needed these people out of here. That was what he was most concerned with and they were still very much in danger. He looked to where they were still huddled and motioned them out. He saw Natalie among them.

"Let's move!" He shouted, waving for them to follow. They streamed out of the doors, bumping into him in their escape, but he shouldered past them. Once he was clear of them, he aimed the rifle at Jack, who was still struggling on the concrete. This was his chance. The thing had him pinned against the floor in their struggle. Jack couldn't do anything about the rifle being pointed at him. He could end this. But, just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, he heard the gunfire from outside.

Taking one last look, he followed the last survivor out the door, leaving Jack to his fate.

Then, he was back out in the rain and in the wind. Dave put a hand over his eyes. While they had been inside, someone must have flipped a switch. The entire site was lit up so they could see. And what he did see was out of his deepest fear.

Jack's men were locked in a vicious melee with the very people he was trying to get out of the camp. Being armed, the ex-prisoners had the initial advantage, but, ironically, a jailbreak was the last thing they expected. Many of them were overwhelmed before they could realize what was going on. But, as Dave looked out beyond the fighting, his blood chilled.

The gunfire must have carried through the storm. That was the only logical reason for what he saw. What seemed like hundreds of the dead were smashed against the gates, and the fencing was beginning to buckle under the weight. They could be heard over the gunfire.

"Dave!" He whipped his head to the voice, Natalie's voice. She was backed up against the wall of a building, nowhere to go as two men steadily advanced on her.

They shoved her and pulled her, trying to get the feisty girl to follow them out, but she was fighting them every step of the way. One man pulled her hair in an effort to drag her off, but she twisted, hands lashing out to his face. He let go, grabbing where she scratched him, and the young girl they thought such easy prey landed a savage kick to his groin. The man dropped on the spot.

But there was no time for celebration. The man's partner, furious with the resistance she was showing, threw his entire weight at her, both of them falling to the ground.

Dave took four steps and turned the rifle around in his hands. He had one good shot as the man struggled on top of her. Taking aim, he swung it like a club and smashed the guy's face in. It knocked him out cold.

"Natalie!" He yelled, heaving the man off of her. She wasn't moving. He shook her shoulders. "Natalie?"

When she still didn't respond, he placed an ear to her chest and was relieved to find her still breathing strong. She must be unconscious.

He looked around and grabbed both her and the rifle. Maybe he could drag her out. He could make it so the zombies didn't attack her and they could both get out of here before this got any worse. They could do this.

Soaked to the bone and afraid for the people he was trying to save, Dave Barret made it only a few feet before he was stopped by the one voice he thought he would never hear again.

"David!" He turned to meet the end of Jack's pistol. The man was smiling.

Then the hammer fell, and the gun fired.


	20. the Assault Part 2

the Assault - Part 2

The primer was struck, igniting the gunpowder inside the cartridge. The gases expanded, escaping and propelling the bullet forward and out of the barrel as the slide on the weapon kicked back, producing the recoil and ejecting the empty shell. As the bullet sliced the air towards its target, the slide of the handgun stayed back, empty.

Dave saw this entire process happen right before his eyes. He could see the muzzle flash highlight Jack's features; an eerie, evil grin.

Then he watched as the round approached him. He tried to react, to get out of the way, but there was no way he would be fast enough. He couldn't stop it. It would hit him right in the chest, he could practically feel it. His life was a slideshow in front of his eyes and this was the end. He couldn't survive a hit like this. After all he had done. He had been so close and it was going to end like this? He closed his eyes.

Then he felt the impact, like being shoved in the chest. He stumbled in the mud, slipping in the rain and landing on his back. He was shot, he knew it. His hands felt for the wound, for the blood that was flowing there. He couldn't find any.

He opened his eyes and felt a heavy weight pinning him to the ground. It was a person.

Confusion, and then alarm ran through his head. What? He crawled out from underneath the man who was half-pinning him into the mud. Dave felt his body for a wound one more time, making sure. When he didn't find any, he put his hands on the man's shoulders and shook, trying to get a response. When he got none, he rolled the man over, and felt all of his breath leave him.

The man wasn't a man at all, but a zombie, and it was Clemens. Still wearing his suit, still sporting the wound that had killed him, now Dave saw he wore a second wound, a hole in his temple; the wound that killed him a second time.

"Clemens!" Dave was breathless, his hands on the zombie's shoulders. Why? Why had he been there? Did he jump? Had it been on purpose?

He brought his gaze up to meet Jack, who was still standing there, stunned in place. The gun was in his hands, smoking, but there was no longer a smile on his face.

"How-?" Jack seemed unsteady. "How-?"

Dave felt like his blood was on fire. He got to his knees, and then to his feet, taking a breath to steady himself. He ground his teeth.

All around them, the fencing shuddered. There were so many now, howling and crying out at the living inside. They gnashed their teeth against the metal, clawing and biting. He felt their anger.

He took a step forward, and then another, making his way to the man in front of him. He was furious.

From inside the building, he felt the two guards who had been killed earlier. They were finally up and about, the virus taking hold of their bodies and reanimating them. Apparently, Jack had forgotten about finishing them in his rush outside. His mistake. Dave barely had to tell them what he wanted.

"Why did that-" Jack was cut off by the two dead guards grabbing him by his shoulders. They held him in place with an iron grip. Even when he struggled, they wouldn't let go.

"Why did that _thing_ take the bullet?" He finally stuttered out. Jack couldn't, he wouldn't, believe it.

Dave was a step away when he lashed out, swinging a heavy fist against the man's face. The blow actually caused him to stumble and he was hefted up again by the zombies flanking him.

He hit Jack again, and again, and again. He didn't think he could stop.

"You can control them?" Jack managed to say through a bloody mouth. He was being held up only by the dead beside him now. Dropping his head for a moment, he spit out a tooth onto the mud below.

Dave didn't say anything. He didn't really need to; the disbelief in Jack's face was enough.

"You're a monster!"

That stopped him, made him think. He then looked down at his hands. They were swollen and dirty, covered with Jack's blood. He looked out behind him, at the carnage that still raged. Dead bodies lie in the rain. He looked to the fencing, where the dead were still fighting to get inside. They were hungry, willing to do anything to get what they wanted. Then he looked at where Clemens lay still, forever still.

He turned to look at Jack once again, anger in his eyes. After all this man had done, after all the pain he'd inflicted, and he says that? His fists clenched until his knuckles were white.

"I'm the monster?" Jack's eyes grew large as Dave bore down on him. On the other side of camp, the front gate stuttered at its posts, and then finally gave way.

"I'm the monster?" He screamed it, and a crack of thunder split the air. The dead streamed inside, flowing past buildings and those who still fought. They ignored everything in their path, coming to a stop only once they had encircled the pair.

"Look around, Jack." He motioned to the mob all around them, to their rotting flesh and to their dripping filth.

"I only see one monster here."

Jack wouldn't believe it.

"No."

They took a step towards him. He shook his head.

"No." He began screaming. "No! You can't do this!"

Dave shouldered his way out, uncaring now. The dead muffled Jack's cries.

"Please no!"

They showed him as the same amount of mercy he had shown everyone else. They tore him apart.

He ignored the noise behind him, walking instead to where Clemens lay.

Through the rain, Dave knelt beside him. He had been there ever since the beginning. He had helped Dave out so many times; he saved his life, twice. Sure, in the beginning Dave hadn't wanted to even see him, but Clemens had followed him everywhere. What could he possibly do to make up for it all?

Dave felt in the back pocket of the pants and retrieved the wallet that was still there. He opened it. The money was gone, and so were the credit cards, but one thing remained. He slipped the ID, the only one thing giving Clemens identification in this world, out of the wallet and put it in his pocket.

"Dave?" He heard a weak voice off to his side. It was Natalie, sitting up and trying to get to her feet. He took one more, long look at Clemens, and then moved to her side. He would come back. He would come back when he could and do something for the man who had done so much for him, but now wasn't the time.

"Come on." He put her arm over his shoulder and lifted the frail girl up. She was weak, but she could walk, and they needed to get out of here.

"What's going on?" He shushed her, and moved to the front gate. He found he wasn't alone. People were falling in step behind him. They were the survivors he had come to rescue.

There were still a few stragglers hanging around the entrance, idly standing by, and they moved to accommodate Dave and his group. They didn't take a single step towards them as they left.

And they ran, or walked, or stumbled for as long as they could, until they felt they had put enough distance between them and the camp. Only then did they pause for a moment.

He was tired now and needed a rest. The wound in his leg was beginning to irritate him, and he found that it had started bleeding again.

"How many are left?" He asked. They took a headcount; not many. Natalie was by his side, which counted for something, and as he looked into the scared faces, he thought he saw Rick as well. He was able to get some of them out.

But as he looked around, he saw them bloody and bruised, and felt that he hadn't done enough, could never do enough for them. He met their gaze and breathed.

Steadily, they began moving away from the camp and the dead that still lived inside it.

* * *

That night, he put them all up in the very house he and Ian had used to stage their assault. He didn't know where the young man had gone, and only wished him well. For now, he had other things to worry about, but in the future, he wouldn't mind seeing him again.

And as they slept inside, Dave gathered the food and water still at Jack's camp. The rain wasn't so bad now, and the zombies left him alone for the most part. He picked up a bottle of water off the ground, and looked out across the dead.

They didn't belong here. He picked up an MRE than hadn't been ripped open. Those survivors belonged with whoever was still living in this mess. Maybe up north they were still holding out. The group could travel there and see what was going on. He wanted to go with them.

He had a talent no one else did. He could help everyone with it. There didn't have to be so much death if he could control them. Something from long ago flashed through his mind.

_Could it be possible that people could live with zombies and be alright?_

He saw a zombie pick at a body, playing with the insides. Maybe one day, maybe if he found a way to make them all docile. But until he found a way to do that, he only had one other option.

When he saw them off the next morning, he knew where his place was. Natalie had protested, arguing with him to come with them, but he couldn't, it didn't feel right. He told her to look for a place called Smith Falls and for his friends. Maybe she would find them; anything was possible.

And so, grudgingly she went. The last of them disappeared beyond a bend in the road, fueled and supplied by Jack's own cache, and he waved and wished them well. He had a lot of work to do.

But first, he had a grave to dig for an old friend.


	21. Epilogue

10 months later…

The air was buzzing with activity. You could see it in the people as they walked the streets, talking amongst themselves. There was a good reason for it. The new President of the United States was set to make his first speech today since the start of the entire plague.

Michael would watch it in time, but for now he had other worries. The baby was crying again, and he was calling for everyone to meet in the living room where he was currently trying to feed the fussy infant.

"We're coming!" He heard a muffled voice answer from another part of the apartment. It made him smile, and when he looked down at the baby, he smiled even wider. When he looked into that happy, care free face, he knew it would all be okay.

His family and the two other people they shared this apartment with walked in and took their places on the couches and chairs. Room was scarce and the accommodations a little cramped, but they didn't mind. They extended a hand out to anyone who needed it.

"How is he?" Karen asked. He handed the baby off to her.

"He's adorable, that's how he is." His mother jumped in from the other end of the sofa, adoring the child as only a new grandmother would. Michael knew his mother would spoil his son, and he didn't mind one bit. He would give the boy everything he could to make him have a normal life.

"It's starting." He heard his her say, and he turned to the TV. It didn't really matter what channel you were on, the speech was being broadcasted to as many as possible.

On the screen, the Presidential podium was visible as it always was before everything happened. In the background, the seal hung over a blue curtain. Whoever had set this up had gone through the trouble of making sure it was as professional looking as possible for the speech.

Michael could appreciate that, but, as the small audience on screen rose to greet the man in charge, he suddenly found himself uneasy over watching. Surely the President would talk about progress, about rebuilding. He would talk about all the trouble they've gone through and the sacrifices they've made for each other, and he would recall stories he had heard that would inspire a nation to rise up again and restore their past glory. But Michael didn't want to hear any of that. No, not yet.

He got up from his chair, and excused himself.

"Michael?" He heard his wife call after him, and then heard her footsteps following. "Michael, are you okay?" She stood in front of him in the narrow hallway so he couldn't walk any further. She must have given Rachael the baby.

"Yeah," taking her hand, "could you walk with me?"

"Sure," so they began walking, "but why are you leaving?" He avoided looking at her, suddenly feeling bad.

"I just don't want to listen."

"Why?"

They left the apartment and walked through the building, eventually coming to a waiting area near the elevators. It was a wide, glassed in portion that offered a great view of the city and of the setting sun. There, he took her in his arms.

"What's wrong?" She kept asking. He let her go and pulled back, looking into her eyes. He could get lost in those eyes.

"I'm just tired." He finally responded. Her brows furrowed.

"Then you should go to sleep." Michael sighed and turned to look out over the city. She stood by him, wrapping an arm around his waist. The glass sparkled in the light, bending it. It was all so nice. It would have been hard to believe something like this could have survived. Out in the distance, on the top of a rise, he watched a tall oak sway in the breeze.

"I'm not that kind of tired." They stood in silence for what seemed like forever, and he didn't mind it.

He knew the President would talk about all of those things because they were all true. At some point, they were going to have to rebuild, and it was true, everyone had made sacrifices for each other. They had to, or many wouldn't be here right now. But he didn't want to listen, not because he wasn't a fan of the President, but because even now, months after the fact, it was all still difficult to think about.

"You know it wasn't your fault." He nodded in response, not needing to say anything.

They turned so they were looking at each other once more, the warm sun casting shadows on their features. He thought she was so beautiful.

He hugged her and she hugged him, and they both stayed like that for a long time. He would hold her forever if he could.

It was only later, when his mother came looking for them that they parted.

"You have to listen to this." His mother had said. They had their moment, and now they were better. They followed her through the hallways back to the apartment.

When they were back in the living room, his mother pointed to the television.

"Look at this!" She was excited. On the TV, there was a reporter, the first they had seen in a long time, reading off the report.

"In the past few weeks, activity along our borders has slackened considerably. What used to be the hotspot of fighting between our forces and the virus are now deserted, the-" it showed a video feed of barbed wire fences, sandbags, and soldiers looking out over a plain. There was nothing in sight. "-It seems the victims of the virus have either moved on, or have perished through some unknown means. Researchers, meanwhile-"

"What does it mean?" His wife asked. They all stood in silence.

Somewhere, miles away, figures shambled through the shadows cast by the setting sun. There were hundreds of them, thousands. They flowed like water over obstacles. They went through homes, around and over hills, and across abandoned bridges. They all moved in one direction: south.

And among them, lost in the darkness, was a shape that moved less like the others, who stepped over creeks instead of through them, who stopped to rest at the end of each day, and as the sun finally inched its way off the horizon, stood by a tree overlooking a city, and wished.


End file.
